Painting
by LePetitPappillon
Summary: And that was his visage, his flesh, his clothing and his mouth, doctored into such a brilliant grin.
1. Chapter 1

Caramel skin and eyes the tone of decadent chocolate. A smile not yet broken by the cruel world that so overtook them all, as a light radiating from a well pregnant with grave ink. Auburn hair kissing to that golden forehead and the corners of those healthy cheeks. Perfect red lips.

Ludwig stared into that face as though he was taking in reflection within the exalted fountain of youth after a journey long and winding. His own mouth seemed to part as a naïve child's possessed by infatuation.

He might as well have been.

Memory touched to those events that had occurred only two days previously, as though his responsible gloved hands were uncovering bones from years far exterminated; a foggy recollection shrouded in a strict veil of that sudden convulsion.

His superiors had stood before him, placing him on trial in request for a simple task.

"The Italian is coming in two days. You'll be working together. Show him our beautiful Germany and be sure to get to know him. Explain to him how to your jobs works."

"Of course…May I ask a question?"

"Certainly, Ludwig."

"What is his name?"

"Feliciano."

_Feliciano… _

And that was his visage, his flesh, his clothing and his mouth, doctored into such a brilliant grin.

Ludwig took in that suitcase, held within the other's bronzed hand as something of dire importance, and it likely was. That Italian's entire life could have been contained within that shallow container. Not much had been kept near to him.

And that German man recalled that the one before him would be housed inside his own living space at least a few days before finding inhabitance of his own.

The apartment had been cleaned, hadn't it? No, no…It was _always_ immaculate. What exactly was he so concerned with?

Ludwig's train of busied thought was broken by the kindly protest of the one before him.

"Hello…" That word came in a near perfect German, those unexpected sounds morphing those attractive mounds into an even wider simper. "I'm Feliciano."

"I'm Ludwig. It's nice to meet you." The blond man's hand was held before that tanned and pleasant idol, and promptly stolen into a friendly shake. "If you get tired of speaking German, I know Italian fairly well…You must have traveled a long time to get here."

"Thank you, but I feel just fine." An even more agreeable fold. "Don't worry about me."

A pragmatic nod, what that German man excelled with.

"Would you like to go? We can head to my home and get your things unpacked. This office isn't the most exciting thing in this city."

"Anything you'd like." And a thought seemed to occur to that gleaming creature. "Oh! But there is one thing. See, I have this cat named Dom…You're not allergic or anything, right?"

"No. He's welcome to stay with you."

"Thank you. At the moment, he's waiting inside my driver's car…Did you walk here?"

"Yes, but it's not a problem if we need to drive."

"No… I don't mind walking. I'd actually like to stretch my legs. I only have Dom and this briefcase anyway…"

Another movement built of unshakable seriousness.

The two came to the bottom of that wondrous edifice, and that welcomed intruder regarded everything within those streets, the sun showing its face shamelessly and that black car awaiting its new arrival, shimmering as a polished beetle upon a fresh leaf.

Feliciano came to the door and removed a box with holes drilled about its poor forehead, troubled mews escaping the barriers as the sound of paws slipped from its levitating floor.

Soft word was offered in a consoling Italian and then sound transferred to the driver, who gave response in return and finally drove away after claiming a bit of currency from the previous rider.

That caramel hued man came back to his counterpart and either began their decent down the street, that helpless animal slipping around within that poorly made container while mouths gathered all the things that were well exploitable.

Ludwig was uncertain of what to tell that newly found roommate; there was so much about him he could make known, but it was as attempting to find diamonds in great masses of plain stones.

Small talk had never been his greatest attribute. That blond was not a personage of useless pleasantries or deep enjoyment. No problems arose while recalling facts, and nothing held him from being intelligent or successful. But Ludwig was of strict attention to detail and unexpected solution. And such men do not often commit to deep friendship, if there was indeed that bond in the first place.

"Ludwig, do you want me to make dinner?"

"No. That's alright… I actually started before I came to get you. I figured you might be hungry."

"Well, let me know if I can help at all."

For a moment, there was need to expel random fragments of knowledge to spark conversation. 'Oh yes. I'm a member of the Secret Police, but I never really leave my office. Say, did you know I was shot three times while in France? They let me come home and moved me closer to headquarters. That's why I don't live inside an actual home. But that's alright. I only had to give up my three dogs and elder brother.'

No. Anything spoken from his dull tongue was already made a marred gem. His companions would observe his words as a crippled and exotic bird. They were all so interested, but there was undeniable pity inside those blue eyes that seemed to engulf the man's simple world.

Thoughts were shattered as a hand brushed against that blaring crimson band, a curious creature pawing at an unidentified substance.

"Sorry." Feliciano twisted instances of flesh into something odd and amused. "I've never really seen one in person before. Your uniform is nice…" Curious olive orbs came to the metals adorning the opposite's venerated chest. "You've worked hard, haven't you?"

"That's what they tell me. I don't know what working hard is. I've just done what I've been told to do."

"Well, you've done something right." That smile. "Do you have any family?"

"One brother named Gilbert. I haven't seen him in months. I had to move here for work, but we still write letters to one another. I gave him my dogs because my apartment is too small to keep them much longer than a few days…I know they would be happier in his home. They can run around and whenever I took them to visit Gilbert, he would feed them bacon. Even though he usually overcooked it."

The Italian laughed. "Well…Maybe you'll be able to move into a house and have them back." A moment was devoured in hungry thought. "I have a brother too. But he's somewhat grumpy. I still love him, though. His name is Romano."

Ludwig offered affirmative movement.

"I wish I could tell him how I feel right now. I'm excited and nervous and-well, lots of things. Is my German alright?"

"It's just fine."

"Oh; good! I was so worried that I spent all of that time studying it and when I got here I would just forget everything for some reason. And for a minute, I did; right when I came into Germany. But then someone spoke to me and I just recalled all of those words. Has that happened to you?"

"Yes. It has."

"…It's hard to go into another country, even though it's an adventure. Have you ever been to Italy?"

"Yes…I was only able to go for a short while, but it was beautiful. I know what you mean. For a minute, I couldn't remember much of anything I had learned, but then I calmed myself and I could speak again."

The darker nodded.

"Have you gone to any other countries?" It was Ludwig's turn to inquire, his blood becoming something electric.

"Yes. Just France and Spain. But I only visited. This is my first time in Germany."

"Well, I hope that you like it here." As Ludwig spoke, his gaze kissed to those towering buildings, those stars painted against broken windows as though those areas were satanic pits. But his mouth did not gape, nor did words expose themselves to bright hours, the sky something azure and heavenly.

It seemed odd that they had chosen an Italian to complete a job a German could do. Just how many residents could speak that needed tongue? There had to be one more than the lovely man currently wading at the Aryan's flank. Perhaps this strange arrival housed a kind of hidden skill; the best in his class, the golden sort of translator one could only locate once in an entire lifetime.

There had to be something far deeper, because Feliciano's hair was not blond, his eyes not the tint of a sapphire, and his skin the most pleasant of bronzed tones; his blood was not German, yet there he was, inside _their_ quarters , walking upon _their _streets, and soon to inhabit _their _homes.

But the being holding such light pigments was not angry, as some may be. Only puzzled.

They reached that curious living space after a series of irritating risers and an unlocked door, the owner turning his lamp on inside that dark corner and the guest speculating that area with glowing eyes.

"It's so tidy. Do you have a wife?"

"Oh, no…I'm just organized, I suppose. If you need anything, let me know. The bathroom is down the hall and you're welcome to lie down, if you feel tired. I'm going to make dinner."

"Can I help with anything?"

"I don't have much for you to do, but if you like, you can have a look around, take Dom from his box; do whatever you want."

"Thank you, Ludwig. I really appreciate this."

"It's nothing. I'm glad I actually have someone to speak to after all this time. It can be lonely."

"Well, don't worry about that. I'll keep you company. And when you're tired of me, you can just kick me out." That same twist of such attractive formations, and the German felt his face flush.

Had it truly been such a long time away from others that a simple smile could cause such stoic cheeks to blossom?

"I'll politely kick you out. I'll even wear my cleanest boots."

Feliciano's warmed face clouded in laughter.

And Ludwig contained shock at the mere idea of a joke drifting from his serious lips. It was an anomaly, even more so that his sudden companion found humor within those words.

"Thank you. Tell me if you need any help. I'm going to take Dom out."

And promises were kept, the blond man creating their nourishment and the other glancing around that area as though each trinket housed inside that sad palace was a gem of untold value, that black and grey animal tracing behind him as a duckling in great fear of losing its darling mother.

And inside some strange conundrum, their lives progressed as though a soul had not been carried so far from home and had not fallen into the arms of another's life. One could very well assume that they had huddled beneath the same roof for years, all despite the scattered thoughts coursing inside their active essence.

Yet, despite that usually rush of concerned calculation, Ludwig was somewhat euphoric, not having a true friend for an innumerable set of winters.

Somehow, spring had finally shattered the snow devouring it.


	2. Chapter 2

Ludwig awoke in a forgetful haze, not remembering that he had played a definite roll in an adoption of sorts. Which brought even more electric hold when he found his new Italian companion at his side, asleep with that peaceful cat strewn about his naked chest. The blankets had been pulled past his undergarments, if there indeed _were_ undergarments, and that poor witless victim recalled his counterpart agreeing to sleep upon the couch, nearly begging for the wondrous opportunity to have a stiffened back and screeching neck.

"Feliciano…"

"Hmm?" Those well so saturated in their ink and gleam touched to the one who had demanded them. "I'm sorry, Ludwig…It was so cold last night. I didn't think you would mind if I took the spot next to you. Are you uncomfortable?"

Of course I am, you strange Italian. Do you all creep in on each other during the night or was I simply fortunate enough to have the only one unaware of what exactly a 'boundary' is?

"…No. But if you wanted to have the bed, I would have taken the couch."

"Oh. I couldn't have woken you up. I'm sorry…I'll leave you alone."

And that tanned oddity drifted from that bed, his middle clothed, thankfully.

They had eggs that morning, and Ludwig committed such a trivial event to memory only because of that fantastic taste. Those golden and warm gems of nourishment were lovely in their own regard, not only due to their flavor but because they were made with that blond man in mind.

Someone had made _him_ breakfast.

Such a thing had never occurred previously; it was almost always Ludwig who created meals for others, even though those supposed 'others' were hardly even willing to claim their presence.

"Thank you for making breakfast, Feliciano. You didn't need to do that."

"I know, but I wanted to." Those lovely wells kept to that shining table top, a grin forged beneath that sweet nose. "I bothered you this morning."

"No…"

Egg came into the opposite's mouth. "What are we doing today, Ludwig? They wanted me to stay here for something."

"Oh…I was going to show you this town."

"That sounds nice." A small amount of aurous matter upon his tongue. "When are you going to tell me about my job?"

"I could tell you now. I figured you would want to relax a while before I instructed you." The man's azure orbs bonded briefly to the set across from his. "We don't have to go in until Monday."

"Then you don't have to tell me now."

A soft of silence shattered and yolks devoured.

"Feliciano, do you have any other clothes?"

Ludwig had noticed that outfit was the same worn garments held yesterday, those white covers crinkled and those pants left with a splotch from an unknown incident long ago.

"Yes…Just one other outfit."

"…_Why?_"

"I don't have a lot of money." Those facts drained solemnly. "I have this suitcase and all I could fit inside it was another shirt and a pair of pants. And then there was Dom…" Despite those painted truths, a sad grin remained upon those pretty lips, dyed in such a lovely hue. "But I'm here now."

"I'm sorry…If you like, you can borrow a few of my outfits."

"Thank you. Let me cook for you; at least while I'm here."

"You don't have to pay me back."

"I want to."

The German man birthed his typical calculations. "Alright. You seem to be a better cook anyway." More consideration flooded as a dam left broken within an unruly storm. "I'll help you. I know how hard it is to start over in a completely new place, and I just moved to a new city."

"Thank you."

There was a stillness left of dead static. Uncertainly came as to why that offer was placed so selflessly upon the table, just as those wondrous eggs. But regret was not present, the blond one in a sort of unconscious desire for a true companion other than his endearing sibling, only ready within occasional words.

"When do you want to go into town?" That olive painting raised his voice.

"How about before lunch? We can pick up a few things, then come back and eat."

"Sure."

The two allowed their day to progress as if they were in completely natural conditions. The Italian man played with his cat and the German addressed papers after translating them from French, another language in which he held mastery in, and either burned their time until twelve, as if they were simply waiting for their day to truly begin.

Obligatory words were exchanged and the pair breached that well polished front door and came beneath the sun, fresh air enveloping them as an aura abundant in pleasantries.

"Would you mind if we stop and buy some paper?"

"Of course. Did you want to write a letter to someone?"

"No, actually. I wanted to draw a picture. Usually I paint but…Paints are so expensive."

"I see." Ludwig offered his usual pragmatic nod, almost as though he had just been given a strict order. "It would be no problem to get paper."

"Thank you."

The Italian man devoured that city as one would absorb a marvelous sculpture created after years of crushing work. There were minor imperfections upon that lovely statement, as any other great piece of genius, but there was even beauty inside those gaps marring such hapless stone.

Those olive hued eyes touched to everything within that area indifferently, as though each section was simply cloth born of the same fabric, that material of quality and heavily expense. Everything seen was given amazement in some degree.

And the resident observed his guest, bronzed skin still attractive and those curling lips in the same mold they always took. Something within his very blood requested him to be friends with that foreigner, even though he did not know Feliciano anymore than he was familiar with any other stranger.

But there was an odd affection there, as vague and obscure as it was, it too had its wavering existence.

And all the holder could do was label it a fluke.

After Feliciano had taken his paper, that strange pair went to their market, purchasing pasta at the Italian's discretion as well as tomatoes and several spices.

It was not difficult to imagine what would be eaten for lunch.

"Feliciano, are you sure you want to cook?"

"Yes. I am. Are you going to stop me?"

"No…"

"Alright."

And their interjection faded into the silence residing about them.

"Do you like cooking?" The artist began his inquiry, a simpleton to such mangled quiet.

"To be honest, not really. It's something that needs to be done. I'm sure that if I had more money, I'd eat out more often. Less cleaning dishes, less food that I had failed to prepare correctly…It would be easier." Those azure marbles shifted to the personage contained to their flank. "Do you like cooking?"

"Yes. But If I had more money, I'd probably go out more often too. I hate dishes. It seems that things work out better this way. Now you have someone who wouldn't mind cooking for you."

There was uncertainty as to which reply should be made.

"I'll clean the dishes too. I would feel bad if I dirtied your kitchen, since it's so clean."

"Well, I won't stop you. But make sure you're doing something only because you'd like to, not because you feel that you have to."

"Fine. But the same goes for you too." Seconds drowned in momentary occurrence. "Are you allowing me to stay with you because you feel obligated?" There was that curl composed in healthy knowledge. "When you found me in your bed this morning, you looked like you were going to throw me out the window."

"Well…It was shocking. I won't lie about that. But I don't mind having you around. It's a lot nicer than being alone almost all the time, even if we don't know one another very well."

"Yet."

"Excuse me?"

"Yet. Even if we don't know one another very well _yet._"

"Oh." Surprise. "You actually want to get to know me?"

"Well, what do you think, Ludwig? You look like a guy with some pretty good common sense."

"…Oh."

The Italian laughed. "You're funny. I'm glad they told me to stay around you."

"Well, thank you."

"_Well,_ you're welcome." A blazing grin. "Let's go home so I can make lunch. I'm hungry, aren't you?"

"Yes. I am."

"Good."

So they returned together, that man used to such ugly protocol experiencing a sort of churning within that panicked stomach he had not yet acquired before. Yet, it was a pleasing sort of discomfort, a nausea spun of exciting inexperience and new opportunity that came so very rarely.

Ludwig liked that odd Feliciano, and it had already been determined that they were to be companions, at the very least.


	3. Chapter 3

Drawings accumulated and conversations were birthed about them. The German man was recreated in ink and pencil and anything those caramel hued numerals could apply themselves to.

They layered the refrigerator and they hung about those once void walls in the blond man's bedroom; a painting of lines clung to the mirror as though those two articles were lovers, that animal captured inside their shimmering conformity.

And Ludwig became somewhat attached.

He watched as that personage drew his masterpieces and watched as those tedious lines of other European languages were translated into German or Italian or French or whatever the requirements specified.

The pragmatic one remembered telling Feliciano how to complete those tasking little headaches, tattooed in all their foreign words of ugly formality and utter protocol.

"It's easy. All you have to do is translate documents. There isn't really a quota, but you'll want to get your stack done by the end of the week, at least close."

"So there is a quota."

"Well. In a way."

Ludwig watched as that occupied counterpart crafted such beautiful meals and he watched as that complaisant cat Dom was scratched by those pretty olive fingers. He watched as that unruly auburn hair was brushed nearly compulsively, and how –always- that single curl protruded from behind that well composed ear, never being able to bend with the rest of those shining strands.

And the lonesome man could not label the reasons why he held such odd fascination with everything that temporarily tenant did.

Regardless, there was certain awareness, and Ludwig knew he wanted a friend with such dazzling qualities. Despite those solution-orientated compulsions, that blue eyed soul enjoyed the carefree nature of that simple contrast.

As two pieces of a puzzle combining to create the larger image.

"Ludwig…"

And they sat at the ridges of that welcoming table, their plates brimming in the golden exploits of the tanned figure.

"Yes?"

"What's your favorite color?"

"_My favorite color?_"

"Yes. Is that a strange question?"

"No…"

What exactly _was_ his favorite color?

"I suppose I haven't thought about it all too much…"

Was it red or blue or green? Purple? No. Too dark.

"What's your favorite color?"

That hypnotic curl. "It would be easier to ask what isn't my favorite color. But if I really had to pick, I think I would say green."

"Why green?"

"Because it has two of my other favorite colors mixed together. Blue and yellow. They're both so pretty. How could they not make a great color?" The Italian required a long and comfortable blink, exhaling as though he was devouring long and wondrous thought. "Anyway, I think you should have a favorite color too. It seems like an important thing to know, doesn't it?"

"I suppose so. But I've been alright without knowing it before."

"But I asked you and you don't have any idea." Pearly teeth peeking from beneath their polished windows. "And now I have to lecture you about getting a favorite color. So really. Get a favorite color."

Blond brows furrowed and lips crippled into a dissatisfied line. "_What?_"

"_What_; what?" Laughter. "You're so weird."

"_I'm weird?_ You're weird! Who cares about my favorite color? It's not that important. I've been perfectly fine with living my life without a favorite color."

"I care. That's why I asked. And I know I'm weird. Everyone is weird." Feliciano took a mouthful of unbiased food and after swallowing went onto speak. "You can tell a lot about a person from their favorite color. So who are you if you don't even have one? You obviously need to have more fun." A playful simper. "Life doesn't have to be difficult, Ludwig."

"Well-"

"_Well-_" More unfettered bliss. "Well nothing! Get a favorite color! Go see a movie. Listen to the radio more often. Whatever you want. Just be happy about it."

And giving up, the pragmatic thinker sighed, receiving a smile from his sunny counterpart, who was well aware that he had captured a hostage.

"Let me teach you to draw. You'll enjoy it."

"I can't draw."

"Yes, you can! You just have to practice. Maybe you just haven't tried yet. Come on, Ludwig."

And the one in question took his minimal time to calculate. "Fine. But don't be disappointed when you end up with an ugly portrait and a wasted piece of paper."

"Only if you don't have fun."

Yes. The Italian had indeed won.

The next day, the two walked with one another, the shorter dressed inside one of those handsome uniforms just as the actual German was. He fondled that blazing red armband with an awkward sort of curve burning upon his visage. They all knew it was an image that did not fit, an anomaly clothed inside flesh that was not its own. Yet, if one looks like a German and speaks like a German, it must be a German.

"Did you think about what you want to draw Ludwig?"

"Not really…" Sapphires found an edifice carved inside gorgeous age. "…Will you teach me to draw buildings?"

"Whatever you like."

The pale man paused and stopped those heavy tracks. "…What do you think my favorite color is?"

"Blue."

They kept walking.

"_Blue…_" Ludwig was uncertain as of what to comment.

"You seem like you would like blue. It's calm."

A nod and that deafening silence.

They arrived that morning to a stack of towering papers, manila found inside unending collections. There were envelopes and documents and dictionaries for the reference of those poor slaves, who hardly needed to use them, and of course, all kinds of languages branded them, dull canvases overpopulated by fascinating phrase.

In Ludwig's enormous mess lied English and French, two of the four languages he has acquired. And in Feliciano's, there was Italian and only Italian. It was the tongue his use would shine in, although other flavors of words sat against his experienced taste buds.

"Oh my gosh…It's like it got bigger than yesterday." Feliciano glanced through those horrid declarations and then cast gaze upon Ludwig, as a man about to be thrown from a merciless cliff.

"I know. They multiple at night, apparently."

"Like rabbits…" The Italian man took his seat and adopted one of those brinks composing that spectacular tower. "Well, I'm going to get started." A sheet of fresh paper was stolen from its home upon that sad table and words in German began to dominate its hapless flesh.

They worked inside a dour office, if that asylum could even be labeled as an 'office'. Tables lined the room as though it was a mess hall of sorts, and numerous translators, although they were not in legions sat at their places, all dressed in uniforms far too handsome for their work. Many of them had returned from war, having learned the language of their assigned counties before departing. They had been shot and wounded and broken and some even limped upon legs in casts and sat within wheel chairs. And there were some like Feliciano, who were needed due to their fluencies. A Japanese man resided inside one of those chairs, and spoke with a heavy accent, yet had no inconsistency in recording the intended thought.

And they all worked, most of them only taking a bathroom break because not one wished to achieve the week's end with a single foreign word remaining.

There were not true deadlines, but there was indeed strict expectation.

Near twelve, the Italian man ceased and turned to his neighbor, flexing his cramped hand and projecting his voice in mere whisper.

"Ludwig…"

There was not a response.

"Ludwig!"

"What?"

"You can speak Italian, right?" the question was asked in the language inquired.

"Yes. Why?"

"We should fake an illness. I can't take anymore writing. My hand if going to fall off and I'm starving."

"We can't fake an illness! We'll lose our jobs. Just stop for a minute."

"You're no fun. How can you stand not eating _all day?_ Why don't they let us have a lunch break?"

"It's not that kind of job."

"Then what kind of job is it?"

"The kind of job that doesn't have a lunch break."

Feliciano laughed in muted tones. "Hey, your Italian is pretty good. Where did you learn it?"

"I studied it…And thank you."

"You studied it? All by yourself?"

"No. I took a few classes."

"Oh! Me too! Well, not with Italian, but with German. The pronunciation is tough…Do you know any other languages?"

"French and English."

"Oh wow! You're smart! What's your favorite word?"

"Feliciano, we have to get back to work." The German man was trying not to take amusement from the bare foolishness of his coworker.

"Oh, come on. They can deal with a few extra papers. Tell me your favorite word."

The blond set his finger before his churning mouth and came back to his demanding task in such loud French.

"You don't even have a favorite word, do you? No favorite color either. Ludwig, you need _help._"

"I don't need _help._ I just need to finish my work. So please stop talking to me. It's very difficult to use two different languages at once."

"Sorry…I'm going to help you."

"_I don't need help._"

"That's what they all say. You're in denial."

That poor and flustered soul simply exhaled loudly, his companion exhibiting his temporary bliss and either going on with their translations.

Feliciano allowed his victim alone for the remained of those slow hours, and finally, after removing a great portion of their vindictive piles, feet took their owners home, appearing to suffer from murdered souls.

"How long have you been doing this job for Ludwig?"

"About a year. At least close."

"Wow."

And again, there were speechless moments of static.

"You'll get used to it."

"I know I will."

And the tired pair entered their home, the Italian's temporary shelter, too exhausted to cook dinner and far too gone to create art.


	4. Chapter 4

"Alright…You should add a line here…Just make it nice and straight."

They sat at Ludwig's kitchen table, the blond with a picture before him and the opposite at his side, offering tips and pointing to certain areas upon that soaking parchment.

They had worked that day, but Feliciano insisted they begin, his skin festering for the opportunity to teach and his fingers so shaken with weighty anticipation.

"Straight line?" And the poor and flustered student attempted to duplicate those orders to actions, only to leave an ugly scratch upon the ruined page. "This looks awful."

"Nonsense! It looks great! If you hate it, try again."

"Alright..." The experienced eraser was taken from its sleep against that smooth surface and adhered to the beaten paper, taking away each of those undesired mistakes.

Another attempt was made.

"See? You're doing fine. All you need is a little practice. Now, for over here, you should put some shading…" The tanned fingers came to the corner of Ludwig's improving tower, those marks ready to collapse.

"_Shade?_ How do I do that?"

"It's simple. Here. Let me see that pencil."

Lead kissed sweetly to those malformed constitutions and began to color softly; leaving only a small amount in the side of mild darkness, and kind blades came into their duty, smearing that shadow as damp paint beneath honeyed rain.

"That's all you have to do. Give it a try."

"Thank you." Those brilliant movements were replicated, and with each instance of that dull tone, the builder of that primary edifice became slightly more skilled with his once clumsy finger tips, assigning shade to its proper homes and allowing breath into something flat and dead. Hs face began to grow in affectionate warmth, a pretty blossom possessing cheeks for reasons so inexplicable. Perhaps because those hands, once occupied at the duties of war were not adjusted to the mere suggestion of creation. And even though those scratches came and were something malformed, they were still brought to life by _his_ calloused numerals. It tore those doors open wide for pride Ludwig had not owned before.

"That looks really great." A pat from that sweetened Italian struck the German's broad shoulder and more rouge gathered within his visage, susceptible wells begging for water. "We can do this again if you'd like, since you've finished this, what I can teach you next is simple."

"But only with buildings?"

"Well…Yes."

"Hmm…" Sapphire eyes closed in their thick contemplation. "Will you teach me how to draw humans next? I think I'd like to do that."

"Of course! Whatever you like! To be honest, I like drawing people more than I like drawing buildings, but if you can put either of those things in your portraits, it will look even more complete." And there it was again, that enormous and naïve bliss. "We should hang this up somewhere. Maybe we can tack it to the wall."

"_The wall?_" That statement spilled as though that barrier was a kind of glittering diamond, not meant for the unholy touch of a filthy amateur.

"Yes. _The wall._ Where else would you hang it? Not in that stupid office they have us all jammed into."

"But it's not even good."

"That's just what you think. Maybe someone _else_ wants to hang it up, _huh?_" A playful and stifled curl overtook that glistening face, no teeth peaking behind those charming mounds. "Listen you; there has to be something you're proud of. You don't like your metals, or your fast work rate, or even your first _real_ drawing, which is truly nice, regardless of what you have to say. And you don't even have a favorite color yet. You're breathing, aren't you?"

"Of course I'm breathing."

"Well, then prove it. Hang up your drawing because we _both_ know you _are_ proud of it. You just don't feel like you should be because you're so used to telling yourself that your work isn't good enough."

It was at that point that Ludwig stared into those opposing orbs of utter light and believed he was glancing into the surface of a mirror. For an entire year, that blond had been subjected to his own critical thought, as the child who returns home everyday to the harsh father who only has a great collection of bitter diatribes to distribute. Within a few short days of knowing him, that odd painting of an even stranger man had nearly crashed into his life and practically undressed that fit body, reading those eyes and that heart as a journal left open upon a beautiful coffee table.

For long seconds, he could only be dumbfounded.

"You're right. I do tell myself that a lot."

And that pretty twist turned to sympathy while those shapely brows dipped. "Well stop. Because it's not true." Darkened gems met with Ludwig's in a sort of molecular bind and a palm came to retirement upon that muscular form. "_You're good_, alright?"

"Alright. Thank you…" Softened azure orbs tore form the ones so intently set upon them, and the owner of that confused and drunken feeling rose. "I'm going to get ready for bed now. I'll see you in the morning." A few steps proceeded. "Do you want to do something tomorrow? We're off."

"Sure."

A nod. "Good night."

"Good night."

As the serious man slept, that sugared companion searched quietly throughout his cabinets, so full of stored items, and after moments of deliberation found a frame. Immediately, that strangely venerated drawing was mounted upon one of those empty spots near the window, and Feliciano's corpse collapsed upon the couch.


	5. Chapter 5

The two came beneath that beautiful sun, the sky exhibiting its finest blues, embellished by lovely clouds.

Ludwig had seen the frame set around his very first work of true art, however strange it may have appeared. The moment critical eyes lied against that filled parchment, the beholder wished to create another and a far better clone, knowing practice would allow that meager skill time to blossom.

Of course, thanks mere given to that eccentric Italian man and a grin was given to the faux artist, uncertain as to how to mold that uncomfortable mouth.

Feliciano noticed his companion's awkward nature and his general pragmatic way of thinking, but importance was not piled against it. Within his very own calculations, they were the closest of new friends and never would fault be assigned to the opposite's mere programming. Because Ludwig was kind, and Feliciano was determined to bring bliss to such a strictly conformed statue.

For he was a figure that could make even stone bend.

"Ludwig, where do you want to go?"

"I don't know. I figured we could just go for a walk."

"I like walking." That simper. "Maybe we can get something to eat."

"Well…If it's not too expensive."

The German man took gentle reprimand to the shoulder.

"_Have fun!_"

"Feliciano, I need to buy groceries."

"How much do you have saved up anyway?" Slight assault in play. "But I won't force you into anything. Just ask yourself how often you go out for lunch."

"I don't." And in uncertainty, the blond man hit his counterpart back, his affliction left without sting. Within that false attack, the assassin's face was left completely serious, emotion left unbroken upon that still canvas.

And Feliciano struck back, still laughing. "You look stoic. I'm going to make you smile. But for now, let's just walk."

"You can try. I don't know if you can."

"We'll see."

The two made their way into those active streets, men and women flooding the area as blood traveling through an animal's veins.

Feliciano was compelled to glance about those shifting faces, an anomaly of so many who resembled one another. Pale flesh, cerulean gems peaking beneath blond lines, so straight and so very strict. The women, the men, and the Italian living beneath olive hide and sight blacker than ink inside a perfect well. No, they were not anomalies. He was the only anomaly set within their Aryan dream; a red grape within their patch of green orbs. The thumb beaten bloody with the hammer-the outcast- the bursting crimson star in a darkened sky inhabited with plain droplets.

But as in all things, he only displayed joy against those attractive lips. "Goodness, Ludwig. There are a lot of you."

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing. I suppose I'm just being odd."

"…There are a lot of Germans around. But this is Germany." A slight pause. "What were you expecting?"

"I'm not really sure what I was expecting…" Those wells so embellished in their darkened hues touched to that vast fleet of clouds in duty upon their wondrous flat. "But you were like I imagined you to be."

"I was? How much did they tell you?"

"You name and your job."

"So you heard the name Ludwig and you automatically thought of someone like me?"

"Yes. But only because you look like a Ludwig. If your name was something like Ciro or Dante I would think you would be somewhat like me. But Ludwig is a German name and you're a German man. I wasn't going to picture you with dark skin and curly black hair, just like you probably didn't imagine me with blue eyes and blond hair." Feliciano simply glanced into the other's soul. "How did you imagine me?"

"…Like an Italian."

"And what qualifies as 'like an Italian'?"

"Tanned skin and darker hair, I suppose. But with a name like Feliciano, it's hard to put a face together. To be honest, I was anticipating your hair to be black. But it's a nice color. Like something between red and brown. Do a lot of people have that color hair?"

"No…Well. My brother does. But his is even deeper red, more of a burnt tone. A lot of people told me we looked like twins, but he's actually older than me." Those sweet round lips formed into their rehearsed curl. "Do you look a lot like your brother?"

Ludwig contemplated a moment. "No, actually. We don't seem related…Gilbert is somewhat eccentric, and he's quick to anger, but there are few who are more loyal than he is. He's done a lot for me when there was no one else there, and he made sure that I was well taken care of, even when it was extremely hard. Gilbert is a good brother."

"That's great. My brother and I don't really see eyes to eye, but he's a good brother too…" The bronzed personage gave a solemn nod. "You're lucky, Ludwig."

"_Lucky?_"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because, you have a really good sibling. I wish that Romano and I could be that way. But I just feel like I got on his nerves."

"Well, I think you're lucky."

"Why do you think that?"

"You're artistic and happy. Those are two things I've wanted to be my entire life."

"Don't say those kinds of things! You can be! You just have to _try._"

Ludwig wore discomfort inside a miniscule curve, and that simplistic grin caused his counterpart's ever glowing visage to absorb even more of that fine glisten.

A plume within healthy soil caught beneath a benevolent sun…

Placid cheeks were injected with rich pink.

"I'm going to make you artistic, and hopefully happy. So don't worry, Ludwig." Petals churned in veiled amusement. "I'm becoming frustrated."

"I'm sorry."

"It's alright."

They marched on in a temporary quiet, another conversation coming into its livelihood within the movement of their heels.

And with those growing and willowing conversations, they went on, walking until they had found new areas of that uncovered blond city, the elder inhabitant knowing how to return home.

Finally, nearly at random, they stopped before a sort of gallery before another shop, the prices of those wonderful pieces marked upon their shimmering frames.

Usually, it was the sort of attraction the serious man would pass; his wallet desiccated of it wealth and his interests simply not tacked to those of the brush.

But his eye was bound inside that black hole of utter beauty, as though destiny had struck him down with a bitter and enflamed meteor.

Before him, upon that thick and dirtied parchment laid a single image, a portrait of a lake captured under the thumb of an aqua sky. It did not seem true, yet the world above them was testament to its authenticity, those soft cotton mounds matching within that world of paint, and the hue of that mighty azure screen. Something about it was of such anomaly, that concentration deep, but so very relaxing, staring into your soul with aggressive eyes while allowing words of sugared love into your drunken ear. The woman who adored and stabs all at the very same instance.

Ludwig's lip dropped.

"That's a nice painting. It's expensive though…" Feliciano checked his pocket. "I've got nothing."

And Ludwig checked his pocket, finding bare amounts of sad currency.

However, it was not enough. It never truly was. There was not a use in counting it, mere action inducing crushing disappointment.

"Feliciano…"

"Yes Ludwig?"

"…That's my favorite color. That blue."

"It's pretty. It's lucky you can see it just by looking up."

"I suppose you're right. But it seems like a different color. The sky isn't that blue."

Feliciano offered his agreement in the nod of the head. "Are you going to get it?"

"No. I don't have enough money…But I wish I did."

"Maybe you can come back later. I'm sure they'll be here for a while."

"I'm sure you're right."

"Come on…We should get back to eat lunch. Or maybe just get enough money."

"Let's buy lunch…"

"Alright."

That Italian beamed within all his caramel glow and the two went home, either aware that something inside that austere heart had altered.


	6. Chapter 6

Another week came and expired with either man working and becoming nearer in matters of friendship.

And with another set of days came another payment.

Feliciano knew he should leave Ludwig's home soon.

So he went to those different neighborhoods, finding uninhabited homes for sale, those prices something cheap and he traveled to those complexes of comfortable apartments much like the German man's, finding options he enjoyed.

But that goodbye tasted as the metallic razor soon to fall into the other's heart.

Feliciano did not wish to take his absence. But he did not wish to be a burden, and two weeks was a lengthily stay regardless of the personage caught at rest.

So the Italian came to his companion inside a morning of a day left off, not yet possessing his next home and not truly wishing to find another.

"Ludwig…"

That thin and worn suitcase was filled and the clothes borrowed had been returned after going through a cleanly cycle and handsome fold.

"Yes?" The called glanced up from his paper and regarded that meager baggage and those battered travel rags. "Where are you going?"

"I was going to move out."

"Why?"

"Don't you think I've been here too long?" Those brows usually soaking in their calmed demeanor furrowed. "You're tired of me, aren't you?"

"No!" At that sudden outburst, the projector of that interjection slowed that sudden blood. "No…No. Of course not. Do you want to leave?"

"No. I really like it here. But I've stayed too long. I left you some money on your night stand."

A palm covered that placid forehead. "Feliciano, you don't have to pay me back. Do you at least have somewhere to go?" Sapphires connected with those saddened wells of reflective ink.

"Well, no. Not right now. But I've done a lot of looking and I found some nice places."

The German man thought a heavy moment, knowing that allowing his new and close friend out that door would only draw him within that vast loneliness kept at Feliciano's barriers. Within that dark skinned man's arrival came a light lavish in joy, and that tight fisted soul would pay even in crimson essence to keep his candle from being extinguished by the awful hand of obligation.

Yes. They would see one another at work.

And they would indeed continue to feed their ever growing friendship.

But it would hardly be the same.

Ludwig was not willing to drop another blissful sunflower into the blackened chasm of bitter sacrifice. It was as though admitting those beaten and bronzed feet from his threshold would eject that luminary into a vat of sordid water, those comfortable conversations falling to something brittle and forced.

A grave day far too early.

He had already lost his brother to that awful and merciless beast, devouring his mirth as though it was the most fantastic of entrées.

Coming back to that abyss was giving his life to the horrid creature that lived inside it, and that heart, once so composed of dead ash, was returning to its childish pink.

"It wouldn't be hard for me."

"You should stay here."

Feliciano's lips twisted beneath that sweet nose. You actually want me here?"

"Yes…" Emotion lurched uncomfortably within that throat and made words inarticulate and simple. "It's lonely here."

"Oh…I'm sorry." the Italian looked towards his crippled shoes.

"I know your back is probably stiff from sleeping on the couch…Well, you can have the bed. It doesn't matter to me."

"But this is _your_ place."

"We can share it. I've been through worse than sleeping on a couch…" Thought whirled around that blond head as furniture within a hurricane. "We can split the rent. You can even pay less if you agree to keep cooking. Save your money. You should have enough to get new clothes and shoes and whatever else you want. There's no need to get a place to live if you can stay here."

_Please don't leave. _

"Are you sure? I mean-that's so kind-but-" Deepened orbs drowned within troubles and a sigh rose above the owner's aching chest. "It's _too_ kind. You let a complete stranger into your beautiful home and now you're going to let him have your bed. _Your bed._" A dart of the glance. "I can't take that. I'll stay on the couch. But I really need to know that you're alright with my staying here; that you're not just saying that because you feel like you have to. Because I've been through worse than not having a home for a few days."

The paler being's expression seemed to soften. "Feliciano, I'm not the sort of person to say something when I don't mean it. It makes more sense to split the rent, especially when you like it here, and-"

_And I like having you here. _

"Just trust me. I mean every word."

"Well…Alright. But you need to tell me if you get tired of having me around. Promise me that much, at least."

"I promise." A right hand befell that powerful collarbone and the left was held within the air.

And in a rare instance, a genuine smile before those lips and inhabited those stoic eyes.

Feliciano could only look on, knowing he was more than a simple weight against the poor mule's ever breaking back. And Ludwig meant more to him than gold, despite that quiet nature and perpetual pout. Kindness had been placed inside those poor and dirtied hands when hardship held his waist close as a fascinated lover.

And kindness was to that Italian as a diamond to a saddened woman.

"Thank you, Ludwig."

That tanned creature came to his companion and stood at his flank until that great form rose; undertaking the warmest embrace the donor could possibly muster.

"_Thank you._"

"It's nothing."

Bags were unpacked and either man basked in their honeyed relief.


	7. Chapter 7

So they went on, going to work and completing their assignments all while clothed inside those handsome uniforms. Feliciano would often times play with that blazing red badge as though it was something of a foolish pin, nothing to be taken so seriously.

And within that business, there was hardly any time for those promised lessons, and the German man had nearly forgotten of them.

All until he looked over to his companion within that dour room of duty, finding the Italian producing beautiful doodles about his translations.

"Feliciano!" A loud whisper. "_What are you doing?_"

"I'm drawing! Look!" The polluted parchment written in pretty Italian was showed to that baffled soul. "See, here's my brother and that one if me. And there's you. I think I got your hair right. Do you like it?"

"It doesn't matter if I like it. You're going to be in trouble! You're not allowed to draw on the job. The minute someone sees that-"

"Oh, stop! You worry too much. I bet deep inside your heart you want to doodle. Pick up your pencil."

"Feliciano-"

"_Do it._"

"_No._" And that dutiful creature returned to his transactions.

In a moment of boyish foolishness, the bronzed form took his utensil and sketched a horrid line across the visage of his opposite's work, causing a stare composed of the finest miasma and threat to his simple existence.

To that, there was hidden laughter, stifled by smooth palms.

"Look at your face!" Cheeks curled and became fresh as spring. "I'm sorry." fingers fell from their posts. "It still works. Look, I can read it."

In retaliation, a scar was burned into that opposing sheet, the murderer trying to keep his face in that bitter order.

"Hey! You marked up my drawing!"

"Will the both of you be quiet?" Remark came from across the table and either offender of that once serene mess of static calculation looked upwards. "I'm trying to work."

"Oh, sorry."

A return to obligation.

The pair went home after that lengthily day, the blond wallowing within his worry and that auburn jewel murdering his grin and regarding that man so consumed with the mere texture of his worn shoes.

"Ludwig…"

"Hmm?"

"I'm going to teach you to draw people. So you can doodle too." That smile built of luminescent bliss. "I'm sorry I ruined your paper today."

"That's alright. It wasn't a big deal…"

"Anyway…I want to teach you how to draw more. After dinner."

"It's late."

"I know, but you'll love it. I promise."

"Well…Fine. I don't know how good I'll be. I'm tired."

"That's alright. You'll do great."

"…Do you honestly believe that?" Those polished and weathered boots drenched within stoic nature came to a halt and the one trapped within them attempted to read his counterpart with tilted brows. "I'm the worst artist I know. And you're the best. How can you say that when you've done drawings so much better than mine?"

"Ludwig, where's your confidence? You're smart. I thought someone like you would have that figured out by now."

"…You didn't answer my question."

"I believe in you. It doesn't matter what _I_ can do; or anyone else. It's about _you._ And I think you have the skills to do whatever you want. I already told you that all you need is a little practice. It's that simple. I just have faith in you." An expression of friendship. "Did that answer your question?"

"Yes…Thank you."

They stood looking at one another, the darker smiling and the other simply glancing.

"Come on, Ludwig."

"Come on with what?"

"_Smile!_"

"What? _Smile?_"

"Huh? _Smiling?_ Oh no; what's that?" An even larger grin. Feliciano crossed his arms, leaning forward. "You know how to smile, don't you?"

"Of-of course I do!"

"Then do it!"

"I don't want to."

"Alright. Well, it seems like we have to do this step by step." The Italian drew nearer, grasping either end of his companion's mouth beneath index blades. And he pinched. "Now, just take them like this-"

"Please let go of me."

"Sure. Once you smile."Ludwig wondered why exactly he was allowing such nonsense, unfettered humiliation washing over him as a great and unpleasant heat.

But some part of him, likely some ugly unconscious fragment, enjoyed having another so close, regardless of the blatant irritation spreading about his unfortunate expression.

The cause of that kindly discomfort sighed, simply absorbing that soul as though it was a tale written in wondrous and loud ink.

"You make me so sad sometimes. Why don't you smile?"

"I don't feel happy."

"_But why?_"

"I don't know…I'm just tried. I'm tired and hungry and I want to go home."

"Then we should go…"

Ludwig watched as that sunshine sunk into the blackened dirt, a heart shattering in slow motion and orbs immediately drowning in their slight misery.

"I'm not in the mood for drawing. Maybe tomorrow."

They walked home in their mangled and muted voices.

Dinner was quiet and neither said a word to one another until the Italian lied upon his stiffened couch, legs curling and eyes closed with a furrowed brow.

And the other felt an unimaginable weight slip over his poor shoulders.

Here was this beaten immigrant, sleeping upon a sofa with no more than a few outfits for himself and certain intelligence within his mind. Yet, despite being in a complete other land without a soul he truly knew, there was always a smile upon his face and laughter within that mirthful throat.

Feliciano had been through a radical change and lived within borders in which he was easily second class, and there was grin. His shining visage was a constant luminary within all its mirth.

And there was Ludwig. Who had come back from a war after bearing three entire bullets and still could not appreciate life. Fortune had graced him with buttery golden hair and two perfect cerulean gems beneath those constantly unhappy brows. He was still within his area, speaking his own language and he still kept his brother, who cared so heavily for his very safety. And now he held a friend, someone who genuinely showed unconditional concern and _still_, he could not place joy upon his usually stony mounds.

Even after that companion had given him his undying loyalty.

"What the hell is wrong with me?"

So the depressed thing came nearer to his Italian and stood before him, gently shaking that churned shoulder.

"Feliciano!"

"Mmm…" Olive orbs came to the interrupter of dreams. "What's the matter?"

"I'm sorry…"

The tanned sat up. "Why?"

"Because I'm not a very happy person. But I want to change that. I didn't mean to upset you."

"Well…That's alright. You can't help being who you are."

"I also want you to have the bed. You're hurting your back and I don't want to see you in pain."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm positive."

In an odd instance of attempt, the German man twisted up his lips and exposed those pampered teeth, giving his very best curl.

Immediately, Feliciano laughed, covering his reddening frame.

"Thank you, Ludwig." Bliss. "Just for tonight." Petals receded to cover that unending joy. "I appreciate that."

And that night, the two switched their places, either feeling a satisfying sort of resolution.


	8. Chapter 8

And in a moment of uncontrollable want, Ludwig stood before that miniscule world of paintings, his salary still warm within his palm.

Boots were centered before that beauty, a canvas embellished in its painted freedom.

Its cost blared at him, as a temperamental dragon holding that sought after princess within its bloodied fangs.

It needed to be conquered. So Ludwig could display such a fantastic article upon his wall as the head of a boar mounted from its unfortunate fall.

But just as the hero before that horrid villain, his lips were churning into something indecisive, writhing beneath upper teeth; fingers nails were picked at with dire compulsion and that brave lion heart began to waver.

The portrait made the first move.

"Excuse me, Sir. Can I help you with anything?"

"Oh yes-" Now was not the time to falter.

_Leap. _

"I'd like to buy this painting."

"This one? It's an excellent choice. Are you getting it for someone special?"

"No, not really…Only my wall."

"I see. Well, follow me and it's yours after we get the payment taken care of."

"Thank you."

So the blond followed that man, the currency screaming within his grip and burning him with its costly fire. Those hard earned gems did not want to be released.

But in strange logic, the pragmatic lunatic knew it was a task that must be completed, fate and opportunity bonding to create an unending window for those trained legs to jump through.

And after a hypnotic dance of intelligent fingers the change was given to its correct owner and that very possessor walked home with the painting he had fallen so deeply for.

The weight of that mighty frame was light, its value not sinking into those strengthened muscles and that blatant satisfaction too loud to be silences by such mangled reason.

Ludwig returned home to his companion, who had submitted to dreams upon the couch with his pet asleep against his rising and falling stomach, the creature curled into an affectionate ball.

The German did not wish to rob that sculpture of its light dreams, a body growing sudden wings and lifting into that fateful sky.

But the urge to present that wondrous trophy was something far too overbearing.

The hammer and nail were called upon, and silent as a starved uproar could be, the point of that rusted and ancient metal was driven into the sturdy wall.

With each bang that slender form sank in deeper, and as if it was completely natural, the Italian rose, stretching those sinewy arms and banishing Dom to the floor.

"Ludwig, what are you doing?" A yawn coded those phrases.

"I bought a new painting…I'm sorry to wake you."

"That's alright. I was going to get up soon anyway." Thickly constituted wells searched the room, finding that gorgeous prize leaning against that vibrating wall. "Oh! You bought that one. That's nice! Now you can see your favorite color whenever you like."

"That's what I thought."

Another nock and the idol stood at its post, a crown upon a great collection of average stone.

"I'm glad you bought it. You deserved something nice."

"Thank you." Sapphires welled with their admiration, and never had such light been ignited within the stoic man's once still heart.

Seconds of commemorative muteness were born within unfettered admiration, as if that pair was regarding a noble relative that had passed long before, sights absorbing a shining savior and proud hero.

"Feliciano?"

"Yes?"

"Will you teach me to draw? I've wanted to for a while and now I finally feel up to it."

"Of course! I would love to!" That happy Italian sprung from his seat as though he had been called to a task of dire importance. "Allow me to get my paper."

And with a new sort of earned confidence, Ludwig sketched his own visage, feeling as though he could achieve those pretty lines just as well as his darling companion.

His lips contracted into a minute grin, happy to have such seemly fortune. That hard working slave felt rich, having such a wondrous panting upon his once naked barrier, and a private tutor for those developing marks.

Feliciano smiled in return to the other's blissful state, joyous at his counterpart's simplistic pride.

Either was kept beneath mirth's jurisdiction, all at the ownership of such a companion.


	9. Chapter 9

And as that tanned man worked, the German watched, regarding that slender neck dyed such a rich and beautiful hue.

His fingers longed to reach out and touch that radiating flesh, the man so surrounded in embellishment of fortune nearly glowing.

Ludwig admired his pigments, those gorgeous wells so populated of their understanding; those lashes forming something as perfect as lace, those pretty lips, that silken hair soaked in wondrous color that drunken man could hardly label.

And Feliciano turned to the one so caught inside his visage and offered that regular twist.

"Ludwig, what are you looking at?"

"Oh…Nothing. I was thinking."

"What were you thinking about?"

"Nothing, really. I just had to stop working for a moment."

"Ah. I see." The Italian returned to his parchment, as did Ludwig.

Such incidents had been occurring with developing frequency, that man appearing so lovely at certain angles and at certain times. When he was asleep against that worn couch; as he cooked their meals slightly bent over those dishes; when that beautiful smile graced his shimmering face.

Did most men have such affection for their companions?

It was normal, wasn't it?

Ludwig stopped his thoughts and filled that panicking mind with another set of deeply woven concerns, something relating to work or money, his usual paranoia.

Some days it was far simpler to pretend he was alone, that no attractive Italian resided within that small living space. That he never witnessed those poignant grins and his soul had simply been in hallucinogenic solitude.

But he had not. And that euphoria could not have been faux.

Ludwig was wrapping his troubles in blackened silk, hiding them before open windows and wishing them away.

But of course, they only became louder.

Feliciano read his reclusion as he read everything else. There was something apparently amiss. Intuition was strong within his very blood.

"Ludwig, are you alright?"

The blond man had sat within his room against battered sheets, his eyes wide and his gaze something distorted and unable to be cast in any one direction. That beauty waded within the door's frame, and attention refused to kiss to his crying hide.

"Of course…Why wouldn't I be?"

"I don't know."

"Well... We should get out, don't you think?"

"What did you have in mind?"

"Maybe we could go to a movie or get something to eat. We could just take a walk. Whatever you want to do."

"We should go to the movies."

"Alright."

And they went, the two walking along those busied streets, the blond man giving his greatest attempts to allow those eyes to his own shifting figure, those quick shoes and those swinging hands.

Feliciano watched him a duration, deciding to appeal to those strained eyes.

"Ludwig!"

"What?"

And that naïve thing wore an expression of utter ridiculousness, a tongue curling from those strange lips and pupils darting in several opposing directions.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm trying to make you laugh." A visage back to normality. "It's not working, is it?"

"No. Not really." Despite those solemn words, the German wore a minute curl.

"What's been bothering you?"

"Nothing…At least, nothing in particular. I just-" Brows bent, the pragmatic thinker struggling with the articulation of a fresh lie.

"I haven't been bothering you, have I?"

"No! Of course not. I'm thinking too much."

"About what?"

"Everything."

"Well…Do you feel lonely? Whenever I feel troubled by life, it's usually because I'm lonely."

"No. I'm not lonely."

_It's_ because _I'm not lonely. _

"Hmm…" Clothed toes were regarded as if they contained every last truth against their polished and ancient pores. "Can I ask you a personal question?"

"I suppose so."

"When was the last time you…"

"Oh." A sigh. "It's been a while. I've lost count of the last time since…"

Feliciano nodded. "I think that might help. Maybe you should get a girlfriend."

"Maybe."

"Well, why don't you have one?"

"I don't really know how to attract women."

"…Don't worry. There's someone out there for you. Just get out there more."

"Thank you, Feliciano."

"Of course."

They came to that cinema and they chose their seats, the lights dimming shortly after their planned arrival. The Italian regarded that screen intently, as if looking for forbidden images within that flashing surface.

And Ludwig did as well, happy to have another to place his gaze upon, mind emptying somewhat and a plot filling his rushing mind.

They sat quietly for several lengthily minutes, and the Aryan focused upon the shifting image so consumed in lovely women and men with great duty placed against their shattering backs.

Yet, his attention occasionally graced that caramel cursed face kept so smooth within that slight illumination, glistening wells luminescent within the screen beating onto them.

Ludwig asked himself what exactly he was doing, stealing glances that were free and labeling himself a terrible thief afterward. Why he played those idiotic games as though he was a child of five admiring something long before his grasp. Why it had not set in that Feliciano was a male…

Guilt drowning him as a poor creature within a well lavish in unforgiving tar.

The more he struggled, the more exhaustion was made to overtake those pleading limbs, darkness flooding his torn mouth as water to a desperate bowl.

And he was not required to fight with such vigor. The solution held its shining fingers out to him, attempting to bring wondrous aide to the poor fool who had sunk in far too deep.

But Ludwig had grown stupid and blind, that very resolution leading to organized men and their merciless riffles.

Either that, or there was secrecy.

Secrecy and limbo drenched in suffocation.

So Ludwig watched the film, all in between thoughts and sickness melded into a vat of boiling interest.

They returned after their hours were spent, the blond saturated in fragmented concern and that bronzed artist offering his healing simpers, believing that his companion was simply frustrated of numerous means.

Nothing had changed besides the state of that battered stomach.


	10. Chapter 10

As Feliciano created their dinner, Ludwig watched from their dining room, stroking that sleeping animal that had fallen against that smooth surface of the table top.

The Italian glanced behind him, noticing his counterpart staring near daggers into his pretty back, a friendly curve lined upon his lips.

"Ludwig, why don't you come over here? Talk to me."

"Alright." The paler rose, taking steps to the one kept so busy and stood at his flank, offering odd curl in attempt of affability. "What do you want to talk about?"

"Well. I don't know. Tell me about yourself. You know, what you did before your current job. That sort of stuff."

"Where should I start?"

"Wherever you want to."

"Well…I was in the army."

"Really?" Those lovely wells so possessed in sudden fascination came to the German. "How was that? Did you fight?"

"In a way. I went to France, but I didn't really fight. I was stationed there to keep everything in order... There were a few memorable events. Riots and things like that."

"Then how did you come home? Did you send you back after a certain amount of time?"

"No. I was shot."

"_You were shot?_ You say it like it's nothing! 'Oh yeah, I just picked up the laundry' or 'we're having meatballs for dinner'. _You were shot._"

"Yes. I was."

"Did it hurt? What am I saying? Of course it hurt!" The excited thing took a moment to calm himself. "Well…How were you shot?"

"To be honest, it was such a mess; I wasn't sure what was happening. All of a sudden, people are scrambling everywhere and I'm on the ground bleeding. But the reason why we were involved in the first place was to due to a fight between French citizens and German officers... Once they found me, I was carried to the nearest hospital. The bullets were removed and I was bandaged up. Then they sent me home. Well-here. To work as a translator because my French was fluent."

"Oh my god. You're alright, aren't you?" A hand secured gaping lips. "That's awful."

"Yes. I'm alright."

"Where were you shot?"

"In both arms and my left leg. I'm fortunate they avoided my organs…I don't think they wanted to kill me. Everyone was panicking and seeing more armed men coming for you likely doesn't help. I've done a lot of thinking and had I been in the same position, I probably would have shot at me as well."

"Oh, Ludwig. You're lucky to be here now…And not at war any longer." A bronzed palm came to satiate that rapid heart. "I'm lucky to have met you…But you're alright, aren't you? Does it hurt to walk or anything?"

"I'm fine, Feliciano. I promise you."

"Good." Sweet eyes widened and that palm pressed into such a kindly chest with even more vicious concern. "Let's not talk about that anymore. What happened after you returned home?"

"I was given a pair of crutches and a metal. And after that I met the Führer. I was told I didn't have to work for the government anymore; that I had given my share. But it was the only thing I hadn't forgotten to do. So they stationed me here and gave me work. I could have worked outside as an actual officer of the Secret Police, but I've had enough of that. So I took up translating, and moths later you showed up." Ludwig gave his mal twist, happiness that had stopped growing and died in stone.

"How about your brother? Have you seen him at all since then?"

"No…Once I had departed, I wasn't able to see Gilbert. I left him my dogs and we haven't met since then. But we still write one another letters, like I said…"

"What does Gilbert do? Is he in the army?"

"No…They kept him at home as an S.S. officer. That's what he does best. And he's gotten a lot of honors doing it."

"I see. Does he have any hobbies? Besides wearing a uniform?"

The Aryan had to pause a steady moment. "…Oddly enough, Gilbert plays the guitar. He's not bad either. I think you'd like him. He smiles more than I do."

The Italian laughed. "Really? I don't believe that, since you're just so happy all the time." The other was given playful reprimand in the chest. "Don't be ridiculous."

And in rare instance, those mounds yanked from well polished teeth and the pragmatic visage of all seriousness grew into a sort of luminary.

The cause beamed at the symptom.

"Look at that! I did it! Ha!" That tanned idol nearly shimmered, wanting to jump up and down in celebration. "Look at you!" Happy Italian drained from his mouth. "We should get an award for this!"

"Stop…"

"Only because dinner is ready. Get a plate."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

For a moment, Ludwig thought, drunken upon sudden bliss, uncertain of what words to launch from his shaken lips.

Someone had cared enough to ask of him and his desiccated family. And that very being worried, worried because bullet wounds had healed what felt like years ago, worried that those scars still were well pregnant with fresh pain.

Only that guitar playing elder brother had been so close.

"Feliciano…"

"Yes?"

"Will you tell me about yourself?"

"Oh…If I did that we'd be here all night. Don't you think I have enough trouble with talking too much?"

"No. I don't. I like listening to you."

"Well…I like talking. But I won't bother you with all that. At least, not now. It's getting late."

"Alright. You can tell me later."

"Thank you."

Ludwig knew he should not push his companion to speaking, even though that very disclaimer brought even more biting inquiry to that life so hidden beneath pretty curtains.

They ate dinner in lighter conversation, the German's curiosity fading as a starving fire, the two companions comfortable in each other's presence.

And Ludwig did not allow his heart to sink inside its normal and deadly attraction. He did not concern himself, only basked within the sunshine of that blossoming friendship, the snow clouds finally fleeing and those beautiful rays taking their place.

There had only been that expansive wasteland previously.


	11. Chapter 11

A knock assaulted that door when no one was expected, the Italian man glancing around the room as though he would find the reason for that unexplained visit about those dour corners.

"Hello?"

Ludwig had gone to run an errand, leaving the unsuspecting Feliciano to guard that sacred space as a poor and confused watch dog.

Another pound came, this time attached to a persistent voice. "Hey! Open up! I can't stand here all day!"

"Sorry!" And the lost thing listened, attending to that obvious intruder who was certainly not that polite blond man he had come to know.

The plank fell from its frame and before that near owner stood a man inside an impressive uniform, his chest drowning in decorations and glittering metals. Three large German shepherds were kept on tight leashes in one of his leather gloved palms, and in the other was a plain briefcase, likely protecting a few of those needed outfits. An odd expression overtook his visage as he studied that poor guardian, deep eyes nearing dissecting flesh as the specimen laid cooperative.

And that poor victim stared back, as a fish that is pulled from water, devouring those eyes kept by such a deeply burnt hue and that hair, near to the shade of plain snow.

"Do I have the wrong apartment, or are you just the wrong person?"

"That depends. Who are you looking for?"

"Ludwig. I'm his older brother and these are his dogs."

"Well, I'm just the wrong person then. Ludwig went out to run an errand." That typical and welcoming twist inhabited the sweet man's face. "I'm Feliciano, His roommate." A moment composed in utter thought. "Can I have a minute? I need to put my cat away."

"Sure." The same grin ascended to Gilbert's lips.

A nod was donned and Dom was stolen from his home against Ludwig's sheets and stored within the bathroom, giving protest at his relocation and the scent of those hounds.

"I'm sorry, but it's for your own good."

And the Italian returned, opening that door to the one gone so venerated.

Gilbert came in and glanced around that space, all while removing the ropes to those well behaved creatures, which were sniffing that odd replacement for their endeared master. Hands were licked and walls were examined, the man with such violent and glowing eyes giving a final nod.

"He was right. It's too small." Attention came to the misplaced one. "What was your name again?"

"Feliciano."

"Ah. And where are you from?"

"Italy. I moved here to work as a translator. And you're Gilbert, right?"

"That's correct!" A wide and crooked smile. "How did you know?"

"Ludwig has told me a lot about you. He's going to be excited when he sees you."

"That was the idea. I didn't tell him I was coming. Surprises are more fun, aren't they?" A sideways curl possessed those mounds, and charisma leaked from generous pores.

"I think so."

"What sort of things has Ludwig been telling you about me anyway?"

"Only good things. He said that you're a really good brother."

"He said that about me?" A hand came before that heart so embellished in wondrous accomplishment. "The minute he walks through that door, I'm going to tackle him. I haven't seen my brother for about a year now. And I've been so busy…It's hard to write letters back and forth when everything's always distracting you. I'm guessing you've been busy too, huh?"

The other gave his input inside a nod. "They keep us working. Sometimes we have to take our translations home to reach the quota. Ludwig told me there isn't _really_ a quota, but they get so upset when you don't complete your work that there might as well be. But I'd rather be doing this than other things."

Gilbert gave a bobble of the head in solemn agreement.

"I can understand that…How did you learn German so well anyway? "

"I studied it. I've always liked languages."

"Hmm. I tried to learn Spanish once. That was a disaster. I've never been one for studying. I know Ludwig likes languages though. He's a pretty smart guy." Seconds birthed into thought. "Do you know any other languages?"

"Yes, I do. I can speak French and a little Spanish and German. Italian, obviously."

"Which one is your favorite?"

"I don't know. I really like all of them."

"Ah. I only know German and bad German."

Feliciano laughed. "Which one is your favorite?"

"Bad German, definitely."

Another burst of amusement from the tanned party and that bent smile upon the new arrival's mouth.

Then the door burst open, and those dogs came flooding towards that figure, barking and licking and begging for the man they had not seen in such horrid time.

"My dogs!"

Those glassy cerulean gems came to the pair standing within his area, finding the exalted brother and his blazing and sideways joy.

Without word, the welcomed trespasser engulfed his sibling within a warm embrace, those strong arms capturing Ludwig as a child separated from a frantic parent.

"Gilbert, what are you doing here?"

"I came to visit." An even tighter hold and two family members communicating with surprised sight.

"How have you been?"

And as that usual conversation unfolded from their busied mouths, the Italian watched from a few paces away, a smile written about his caramel visage even though his presence was something far out of place.

But it did not matter. The happiness for his companion was well evident, and seeing that stoic man affected with such bliss brought the onlooker that very same sentiment, even though that wondrous rush was not brought upon by his delicate word.

Gilbert and Ludwig spoke and Feliciano looked, allowing them communication.

He became the useless wheel, but there was not any mind paid to that fact.

Feliciano was even allowed into that miniature world, injecting a few opinions and even breaking off into a tangent with that chatty Gilbert.

But there was happiness, and that engendered each heart to hold perpetual glow.


	12. Chapter 12

Feliciano awoke to a tongue upon his cheek, a sweet German shepherd sitting upon that floor near the sleeping man.

The Italian opened his eyes, sitting up and joined immediately by that kindly presence.

He witnessed the brother upon that very same ground, and he remembered the conversation of the previous night.

A tinge of guilt came, even though Feliciano had indeed offered to take that uncomfortable position. Gilbert had insisted upon inhabiting the place, having been through worse than lying against unkind boards.

One of those great creatures was curled up beside him, breaths matching one another and either set of genuine wells shut.

And the last of those hounds had taken to Ludwig's bed; Dom was still caught within the bathroom, sleeping inside that seemingly fitting sink.

So the bronzed party sat and stroked that breathing alarm clock, accepting affection inside a few laps from a loving tongue.

"You're a nice dog. It's no wonder why Ludwig missed you." Words came in the subject's mother language, soaking kisses administered to his defenseless cheek and lips. The victim laughed, wiping that endearing slobber from his turning lips. "I love you too."

And the one at Gilbert's side awake, leaving his companion alone.

"No. Come back…"

The abandoned rose, wiping the sleep from his eyes and glancing to the soul left upon the sofa.

"Good morning."

"Good morning, Gilbert…I'll take the floor tonight, if you want."

"Sure, if you don't mind." The man stretched, back cracking in numerous places. "That would be nice, actually."

That smile. "I'm sorry. I feel like I'm not supposed to be here."

"No. I'm the one that's not supposed to be here."

For a moment, there was silence.

And Ludwig came into the room, dressed only within his undergarments. The muscles lining his abdominals were knotted as well as rope, that figure well shapely. The man with such anatomy rubbed his eyes.

And Feliciano glanced upon those formed knots, taking his attention away as soon as it was placed upon that tangible strength.

"Good morning, Ludwig."

"Good morning." Cerulean orbs came to the Gilbert. "Damn it, don't sleep on the floor. I told you that you could have the bed."

"Shut up, Ludwig. Go make breakfast. I'm hungry."

"Gilbert…"

"What? Do it. Eggs and potatoes would be nice."

"I'll make breakfast." Feliciano placed his sugared attempt.

"No. I want Ludwig to do it."

"Why?" Golden brows furrowed. "Your hands aren't broken."

"Because Feliciano cooked last night. Your hands aren't broken either. Now eggs and potatoes."

"Gil-"

"Eh-gggs a-and po-ta-toes. Do yooou un-der-staaand?" That bent grin and the elder took his leave from the floor. "I'll even show you what an egg is."

"What about the potato?"

"Ludwig knows what a potato is. If he didn't, I'd probably sock him in the gut. Isn't that right?"

"Yes, Gilbert. You would. But I would punch you back."

"You better punch me back." With play, Gilbert came to his sibling and slapped that nude chest. "Now make breakfast."

"Fine. Just leave me alone."

"No problem. Don't ruin the eggs. I'm going to wash up."

When Gilbert had left the room, the darkened painting laughed, joining the distraught brother at his side.

"Do you want me to help you?" A voice contained inside a whisper. "I know we had an agreement."

"No. That's alright. You cook too much anyway."

"Alright. Tell me if you need anything." A sweetened palm touched to the German's man's shoulder as a kiss from an infatuated lover, and the one who had left that phantom mark disappeared, leaving his victim drunken and embellished in shy pink.

Ludwig did indeed need help, and the Italian gave his assistance, instructing him to add certain spices and to be far gentler with those poor and disjointed potatoes.

And when Gilbert emerged from that steaming door, his hair wet and his clothing fresh, lips conformed as they usually did, finding breakfast ready against that table.

"Wonderful! That smells good."

The eccentric one took his seat.

"Did Feliciano cook?"

"No Gilbert, I did."

"Really? Have you been teaching my brother?"

"Oh, no…I just gave him some advice."

"I see. So you helped; _cheated._"

"Yes." Ludwig cut in, taking a singular bite. "Yes, we did."

"You'll like it better that way."

"Well…" A taste of both egg and seasoned starch. "At least you didn't lie about it." Another. "Unless you lied about it. Then shame on either of you…But this is good, either way." A fork brimming in golden nourishment. "Very good."

"Thank you."

There was something of pride within Ludwig's stomach, knowing that he could create something more than a bland flavor surrounding simple nourishment. It did not matter that his artistic companion had placed suggestions into his widening hands. Ludwig had always possessed full control of those progressing dishes.

The proud man's thought was interrupted by his brother's input.

"Can we go out today? Maybe go out drinking or…" A thought and a working jaw. "Go out drinking, or you know. We would go out drinking. Something like that."

"Well, that's fine with me. But not at ten o' clock in the morning."

"Of course not. I meant at two in the afternoon."

A moment passed and Feliciano along with that amusing sibling began to laugh.

"I'm kidding. But until later, we should do something besides just waiting around. Do either of you have work? I know you have to bring it home sometimes."

"No. I don't have anything to do."

"I don't either."

"That's great! So what can you do around here?"

And the two residents glanced to one another, uncertain of what exactly to place as suggestion, knowing Gilbert would not find a simple walk around those wondrous streets satisfactory.

After quiet seconds, the inquiring man sighed. "Oh come on! Don't tell me you guys don't _do _anything. Do you just lie around on your days off?"

"Well…no."

"When what do you _do?_"

"Sometimes we go to the movies…Well, we did that once. I draw pictures."

"Hmm."

"Gilbert, what do you want to do?"

"First I want to walk your dogs, which you're going to help me with, and then I want to go outside. Not to walk dogs, but maybe go see a film, or get something to eat, or do whatever the hell you guys do around here. Then we can sit around, and then we can go get drunk. Does that sound good?"

"I think it sounds good." Feliciano wore his usual curve.

"Alright. We'll walk the dogs after breakfast." Ludwig gave his nod of deepened approval.

"Good."

So that trio went out into that marvelous city, men dressed within their casual clothing, temporary rest strewn about their faces as haphazard paint strewn about a shining canvas.

The German man glanced to his companion as that joyous elder spoke about his opinions and conquests or about whatever insignificant fragment came into his rambling mouth. Words landed against that tongue and were suited with golden wings, each far too excited to remain in a single place.

So Ludwig and Feliciano took to each other, that pretty immigrant exploiting his darling sunshine and that poor native drinking of it as holy water from a venerated flask.

And that wondrous fluid inhabited his stomach, possessing his very blood and illuminating those apples with rose intoxication.

Feliciano was not stupid. He found those glances and he took those sapphires melding against his smooth back, that lovely neck, his shapely lips. But such attention was branded as simple and friendly admiration. Nothing more than a hapless glance between growing counterparts.

There was not enough reason to suspect anything more beneath those shimmering gems; that fool certain there was nothing between those stoic and intelligent mounds.

It had occurred before.

Feliciano was well aware of his beauty.

And Ludwig drowned in his self denial for know that fact as well.

"Hey! Are either of you two listening?"

"We're listening." In unison.

"Good." Rambling.

The pair went back to their thoughts.

After they returned those kindly creatures to their temporary home, feet brought them into hat beautiful light once again, and they went to the movies, and they went to lunch, and they spoke, and they home and sat around.

At eight that evening, Gilbert insisted upon leaving, pulling his brother from his front door with arms built of determined iron, then staring at that pleasant Italian when tracks were not followed.

"Aren't you coming?"

"No…I'm not much fun being drunk anyway. Would you mind if I stayed here?"

"If you're sure. I won't force you into anything. But if you decide to come, we'll probably be at the nearest bar." The grin and Ludwig was tapped upon the shoulder. "Race you down stairs."

And Gilbert began his rapid decent down those many risers, finishing first with a competition of one.

"Come on!"

And with an odd sort of twist against those uncertain mounds, the blond man turned to his counterpart, amusement alive within his chest.

"Are you sure you don't want to come, Feliciano?"

"Yes. I'm sure. I figured you would want some alone time with Gilbert anyway. Besides, I'm tired. And I like wine more than beer." Sunshine burst against that canvas as color injected into a quiet night sky.

"Alright. I'll see you when we return."

In a flash of utter foolishness, Ludwig leaned forward and allowed shifting lips to that golden skinned idol's defenseless cheek.

Time stopped and confused olives so full of mangled question met to that fair man's glance. They were not harsh; those honeyed orbs incapable of holding daggers, but there ebbed within their inquiry, that lovely orifice parting and forming into a slow mold.

"I'll see you when you return, Ludwig. Have a nice time with Gilbert."

"_Come on! _What are you two waiting for?"

"Goodbye." And with a burning face and pacing blood, Ludwig hurried down those levels, unable to meet the stare of the man he had just kissed.

His stomach churned the entire night.


	13. Chapter 13

Gilbert had not witnessed that brief and honeyed moment of utter stupid affection, but he had taken notice to the static his sibling nourished within his flaming blood, and it remained throughout the night, as an aggressive phantom.

Feliciano carried the same sort of writhing, and it was nearly as exasperating. His discomfort was at the need to have those numerous questions answered, welling against that tongue as serious acid. It brought pain carrying those branding inquiries.

That bronzed painting would not abandon his friend for a single kiss upon the cheek. He was far too loyal, and a part of that warmed heart found his German companion just as attractive.

Of course, it was wrong. Or At least considered to be. Very few would volunteer to be kept inside one of those horrid camps, despite those true feelings and the real hues of their flesh.

That morning, The Italian awoke to his blond companion asleep against the aching floor, lips slightly parted and visage in unfettered peace.

And he admired that sweet expression, the stoic and pragmatic soul gone and another in its place, someone far less serious and more prone to rest. Soft blond follicles framed that strong constitution while lovely breath exited those sleeping mounds.

He looked as an angel who had fallen from those golden clouds, drunken upon sweet nectar with frozen wings.

And he had landed upon that living room floor, caught within a haze of dreams that affected his cheeks with endearing rouge.

"I hope you don't love me. Because I'm starting to love you, you lunatic. Maybe I should have left." The speaker rose and went into the kitchen, preparing those utensils to create that primary meal.

And within those thoughts tailored in Italian, the others came to their feet, mild pain holding to their temples, either whining if the light infecting burning pupils.

"Good morning!" Feliciano held mirth at the pain so taken by the pair. "I'm going to make breakfast this morning. What do either of you want?"

"Whatever works…" The elder gave his reply. "I don't even care. Just something."

Ludwig did not even calculate an answer.

"Something it is."

Siblings sat at the table while that kindly servant prepared their nourishment, a mix of eggs and sausage as well as golden orange juice the true owner of that shimmering space had preserved.

And it was served, those poor men eating as sick patients inside a ward, food connecting with pointed shears as a ripened peach from a tree all too prepared to be plucked.

"How are you two feeling?"

Disjointed grumbling.

"Do you like breakfast?"

A mangled sort of speech.

"That's interesting."

"Mmm…"

"How was last night?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

Again, Ludwig did not supply his answer, that chiseled frame sitting inside his palm and those lovely sapphires sagging and half closed.

So they ate in silence, the siblings organizing their scattered minds and that aware being trying not burst into harsh mirth.

Ludwig and Gilbert did not seem to pay any heed to that sunny simper, nor that glowing compaction so occupied in pretty bliss, despite the truth that it was brought upon by their own churning discomfort.

And after finishing their meals, the elder brother projected his exasperated voice.

"I have to leave tomorrow."

"But you just got here."

"I know. But there's not much I can do about it. I have to be back to work in two days and it takes a while to get home from here. Maybe you can visit me next time…It would be nice." A sigh and that snow white haired man leaned his head back, as though admitting defeat. "I'm sorry. But I feel horrible. Can I sleep for another couple of hours?"

"Of course you can." The younger gave his reply.

"I wouldn't mind if you did."

"Thank you. I'm going to do just that." Gilbert stood, a weighty sigh leaving along with cracks of those aching bone. "I'll see either of you around twelve."

"Goodbye, Gilbert."

"Goodbye."

And the two inhabitants were left to connect their gazes, the Italian holding his many quandaries and the German fighting bitter sickness.

"Ludwig, I think I'm going to take a walk." There was that unbiased formation, something that poor man needed.

"Alright…Go ahead."

Feliciano nodded, giving that conflicted blond his reassurance.

And Ludwig was left to his thoughts, those mere ideals cruel as salt to an opened wound. Questions choked him as a collar secured far too tightly and horrid concern flooded those eyes, tears from a hurting lover drowned in tragedy.

Ludwig knew homosexuality was not permitted, and perhaps this newly found affection was simply a fluke due to a breaking mind. He had gone so long without the affection of another, without those kindly touches and those wondrous smiles and that warmth even more brilliant than the sun's persistent and generous rays. Ludwig knew his heart had left his very chest partially due to that very reason.

But that did not make that great melting pot of illness any less tangible. Emotion and paranoia and unfettered love inhabited his blood thickly as simplistic water, and regardless of the words logic spit as venom from the orifice of an enraged serpent, those sentiments were well alive and that love sickness did not cease to possess him as a vindictive demon so consumed with brining perpetual suffering.

Yet, despite that illness, it did not matter.

It was simply taboo, and Ludwig was not a taboo sort of man.

So his misery continued, chicken wire murdering circulation to every limb.

There was horrible feeling for the mere conception of those droplets within his wells, knowing there should never have been such heavy brands against aching flesh in the very first place.

So Ludwig sat against that couch, pretending as though that beautiful Italian was not his familiar and he had never fallen in love.

Because that is exactly what it was.

It was love.

Gilbert woke and that painting returned. Nothing had changed, but the days progressed as they always had.

And the blond man thought, choking upon shame, hiding those fetid gasps from his brother and his companion.

Those hours met their deaths as many others had. Ludwig housed his concerns, just as Feliciano had for that darling friend.

The sun lied beneath its blanket of healthy mountains and those lives came to their sheets, some against that harsh floor and others suffocating under rough blankets.

And they accepted reality, as if drinking bitter medicine.


	14. Chapter 14

Gilbert left.

He left and he took those dogs, waving goodbye and wearing a saddened version of that sideways simper. They voiced their sorrow and they bid one another farewell.

Both inhabitants were given an embrace, and the donor descended those mighty stairs, the pair watching with their worries boiling within their unfortunate middles.

The door was shut and either glanced to one another, the tanned statue's soft eyes coming to the opposite's feet.

They wished to speak, to allow those awful insects form their throats and to lay the contents of their bleeding hearts before the other.

But neither had formulated any tangible word, truths left mangled and incoherent while so many of those awful fragments wanted golden wings of shimmering freedom.

"Ludwig…" A bottom lip hung in that uncertainty built as miasma.

"Feliciano, I'm sorry…" There was stuttering and a core flushing inside its near seizure. "I um…" Words desiccated and lost their breaths.

"Do you want me to leave?"

"No…Please don't go."

"Why?" Those auburn brows furrowed.

"Because I don't want to be lonely any longer."

And within the mangled silence, Feliciano thought.

"I can understand that. I don't want to be lonely either." More calculation screamed inside that air. "I don't want to go. I like it here. I like it here a lot…But is that the best thing?"

"I don't know what the best thing is." With glassy eyes, Ludwig looked away, not even certain as to what sickness was directed to.

Did it matter what the best thing to do _was?_ Unhappiness lurked behind each corner, as a murderer handy with his favorite knife.

"Maybe we should just spend today alone. Just today."

"I think that's a good idea."

The Italian gave an affirmative nod. "I'll come back around dinner."

"You don't have to leave. I can go."

"No, Ludwig. This is your place. I'll go."

"Alright."

The door opened and that lovely man disappeared behind it, that German too drunken within his misunderstood thought to drink of those gorgeous eyes.

And so the hours passed, that blond sitting upon his battered sofa so reeking with the essence of his lost companion, and thought of each possible option, reviewing them as though they would contain pertinent answers to the horrid exam awaiting him.

Each and every time, it seemed as if he allowed that pretty muse form his threshold, that light would fade from the walls, and only submerge him into that saturated darkness.

The absence of Feliciano would bring the death of an already cracking chest. All those ceramic sculptures contained within that case would become deformed dust, and the holder of those faux achievements would find home within a shallow grave.

A hallow end for a hallowed life.

There was no joy before that bolt of exuberant lightning had dropped upon that massive field of feathery blond thread.

That stone had been brought to breath.

The laughs, the smiles, the mere complexion of that fantastic painting…

They had pressed their very gasps into Ludwig's once still chest, and he emerged with a previously scarred and grey hide turned to the hue of sweetened wine.

He longed for that beauty inside his home. It would be blatant cruelty to have only a taste of wondrous nectar when the over flowing bowl sat before the drinker.

It was potent as addiction when there was no rehab.

But Ludwig could not imagine his very image in the flesh of a homosexual's. They had told him numerous times over he was perfect. They had told him he was the shining personification of each of the Führer's ideals. That blond head of hair, those gems pigmented such a wondrous cerulean tint. The hue of that very hide…

And Ludwig having such a fatal attraction…

It was a smack directly in the mouth.

Yet, there were those frustrated tears, a stomach infected with regret and truth, and that kiss to the poor victim's cheek had still occurred. One cannot wipe such memories away.

There was acceptance and denial.

Denial had not been effective.

Acceptance could very well induce the end.

Ludwig writhed. He writhed as he had been.

And Feliciano returned at six o' clock, windows housing just as much exasperation.

The pair sat and they ate, silence flattening them as a moth beneath an aggressive boot, either sinking deeply within their considerations.

"Feliciano…"

"Yes?"

Silence drained as dust from a gone tavern.

The Italian sighed.

"Look at us! It was a kiss on the cheek!" A fork thrust to the table's innocent visage. "People kiss one another on the cheek all the time! Brothers and sisters and friends and whatever else! What the _hell _does it matter? We're acting like-" The man slaughtered his own words. "Is this really such a problem? _Truly?_ Look, I'll kiss you on the cheek. Then we're even. Then we can stop being so tense around one another." The one so struck with passion rose, walking towards his companion and touching those lips to the same area he had been afflicted.

And they clung a moment, that Aryan skin captivated by those rouge hues.

That assassin pulled his mouth from the other's blushing frame and they regarded one another.

Feliciano read every last phrase within those sapphire droplets, uncertain of his own response.

"…You love me."

Static.

"_You love me._"

The accused swallowed concern.

"Does that upset you? Would it?" In his shame, Ludwig glanced to his naked toes, as though great advice was written upon them in screaming paint.

"No…I'm just not sure what to say. I suppose I should ask you why."

That expansive pause came and soon was embellished in silken words, an extravagant carpet to a barren field. "…You make me happy. You knew I was alone before you came. It felt like there wasn't really a point to living. I was just an officer doing nothing but pointless translations and going home to a small and emptied apartment. I didn't have a lover; I didn't have my dogs; I didn't have anything. Just the voices telling me I wasn't good enough. And then you came. You're beautiful and happy and everything I had wanted to be. You were able to make me smile, something I hadn't done for what felt like years. So that's why. That's why I love you…" Singular tears descended and gathered against those blond lashes before falling, only to be caught by the one who had engendered them.

"Ludwig, you don't have to cry." Soft hands held that chiseled face, thumbs cradling crystalline emotion. "You're going to make me cry…" There was a long duration before the man just as taken glanced to that great stone statue reduced to simple rumble. "And I love you."

"You do?" Gazes met. "Why?"

"You're everything I need, Ludwig. You're order and intelligence and family…You're organized. And despite what you think, you're wonderful. And kind, when this entire world is cruel." Gorgeous lips curled. "I've always wanted to know someone like you. And now I do. It makes me happy, even though you're so hard on yourself. But that's why you're great. You don't stop looking for something better."

Ludwig swallowed misery and stood, engulfing his darling Feliciano inside an embrace saturated in its amorous intoxication.

That frame leaned against the Italian's crown, the two falling into one another's limbs, affection made between them as the melting of steel into a fantastic shape.

Minutes past and men turned to marble, keeping their positions so long, one might suppose they had been birthed in colorful inspiration.

It was the greatest and worst day, contradictions combing as potent atoms, causing mayhem that could not be simply contained, and Ludwig embraced that mighty explosion as though it was the very muse that created his life.

"I love you, Ludwig."

"I love you too…"

And they glanced into opposing eyes, the Italian's lips running to the German's, just as Ludwig's mouth came to his, as though two parties rushing towards a tragic accident.

And they kissed softly, blood inhabited with love melded in that sweet confusion.

That honeyed event lasted several long seconds, the outline of Feliciano's tanned oval held within Ludwig's powerful hands with such gentle graces, and their orifices met in a great number of positions, tongues contained behind moving petals.

Adoration became electric, and two hungry cores devoured one another.

When it stopped, they simply glanced into the other's eyes, reading poetry written inside such incoherent scribbles, that message drifting between them.

Neither knew what they were to do. If they should run, or remain, or fight.

But at that very instance, it did not hold even a droplet of pertinence, because despite that worry and each of those barbed concerns, neither were alone inside that great well of piranhas and hearts wove together as silken tresses inside a lengthily braid.


	15. Chapter 15

That night, they slept in the same bed, yet they had not progressed toward one another. They lied there, only sleeping, yet keeping minds filled with the other's visage, something held so beautiful as a gem against a blaring crown.

The German awoke first, rising and clothing himself inside that shimmering uniform, an article that served only as a screaming lie. Ludwig had wrapped his flesh in the hide of an aggressive wolf while he was truly nothing but the naïve sheep, a fool parading inside the persona of a pragmatic genius.

For lengthily duration, those aggressive blue eyes examined each of those buttons, the badges, the mere hue of the very garment.

It no longer fit.

And those fabrics shuffled, that Italian awaking, regarding his companion inside that acquired flesh.

Feliciano rose from those battered sheets, taking his own garments and wrapping them around those lovely bronzed limbs. Spheres healthy in their darkened pigments took to the image at its flank, those attractive muscles dressed well within the killer's worn coat.

Burnt blades came to that crying armband, its crimson staring into kind eyes as a criminal to the face of a high judge.

"It's not right."

"What isn't right, Ludwig?"

"This uniform. It's not right."

"Perhaps not." That smile forced upon pretty lips. "It's not right on me either." A warmed expression shattered upon the floor in depth. "Ludwig, we still have some time before work. I want to speak with you about something."

"Of course."

"I think I should go."

The drunken man became sober.

"I don't want to. But I'm not worth losing a life over. Of course, it's doubtful that anyone would find out if we kept our mouths shut. But there's still the change that…" Lines creased and weighed against laced frames. "I want you to be safe, Ludwig. It would be greedy to stay. To stay and earn you a grave. If even that…"

"They would kill you as well."

"I know they would."

Dissolving time into that famished gorge.

"I still want to be your friend. I want to be there for you and repay you for your kindness. But for us to be lovers…It's dangerous."

Pale fingers were held within a soft hand.

"Maybe you don't love me as deeply as you believe. We spend so much time together. I think taking a moment to breath would be wise…To get perspective."

"Feliciano, what's the use of getting perspective if you aren't going to return?"

"Perhaps I will."

The troubled man did not speak, allowing those curious Italian numerals to his appendages.

"I don't want to hurt you, Ludwig. Losing our lives for one another…I'm not worth that. You have too much to live for. And I'm not going to cut open your throat. I couldn't live with myself if you were hurt because of my actions. And you're correct. They'll take me as well."

Sights twined.

"This doesn't have to be a tragedy. And you know I have a point. You're the most sensible person I've ever met."

"I didn't have a life before you came. What would I be losing?"

"Everything. You would lose everything…"

The all consuming silence.

"Listen, it's for the better."

"What does that word mean anyway?"

"Ludwi-"

"If you're going to go, then go. I understand why. But talking about it isn't making me feel any better. I hope we'll be able to see one another outside of work, at least sometimes."

"I'm sorry."

There was not reply, that strong hand let from its captivity.

"I'll leave after work today. I don't have much to pack up." Feliciano left the room, and inside that absence, Ludwig's heart sank beneath those ancient floorboards, that emptied cavity filling with the reality he so wished to destroy.

Ludwig and Feliciano ate breakfast and they went to work, trying so hard not to glance to one another wearing emotion within those near to bursting frames. Duty became distraction and that entire edifice was embellished with the discomfort surrounding them.

It was the miasma that strangled them and the poison that brought them such fatal ache.

They went home that evening, points and barbed wire caught upon their tongues, razors possessing their bleeding throats. Each time lips shyly parted a legion of fragmented thought poured upon shoes, and sensible philosophy mutated.

Feliciano wanted to apologize, to tell his darling companion that he did truly love him and he was not escaping simply because he had lied.

But there was fear for either of their lives and guilt upon golden shoulders ready to shatter, as gilded material gone frayed. Those legs were jutting because the owner did _indeed _adore Ludwig; he did want to be so dear to him. But he wanted his counterpart to be safe.

Yet, Feliciano was running, regardless of those justifications. Problems were left as infants to a boiling side walk, and their parents nearly flew from them.

Feliciano cast blame against his own searing conscious, and there for, he flew.

When they met that fateful lock a scream tore from the vocals of those desperate hinges, and each little insignificant detail became something worth observation. Hearts pounded and minds hoped that decisions would change, even though it was well accepted that they would not.

"…I'm going to get my things."

Quiet construed of stone.

And the Italian went about packing, leaving that breaking man to his very living room, poignant sentiment wrapping a cord about his once strong neck.

So Ludwig watched. He watched as that beautiful form moved about his sad and broken apartment, collecting those few articles and placing Dom back inside that withered box. He watched as that exile stood before him. Words overtaking his eyes and mouth and throat.

And he watched as simple phrase drained from such broken orifices, those few syllables reading, "Thank you for everything you've done for me."

Ludwig watched as that gorgeous creature left as easily as he had come, not taking a single glance behind him for fear of converting to a bitter pile of salt.

He watched as the threshold closed, and he watched as his great palm covered his twisting lips.

Ludwig simply watched.

He watched as he fell from a great height.

And he watched as his body slammed against that horrid pavement.


	16. Chapter 16

Ludwig called in sick, well aware that looking into the eyes of all he had lost, great pain would finally cause that heart to shatter.

Each of those glass pieces were held together by saliva and hope.

The saliva dried and hope faltered.

And that Aryan beauty fell into his bed, love sickness becoming something fatal.

He wished for his Italian doll to return, despite knowing harboring muses and burying secrets was ground for bitter execution.

So many words fizzled against those starving taste buds, and each came to their deaths after several horrid seconds and were replaced by several others; one finding its soil and three more bursting to life only to fall.

They took his health; they devoured his sanity, as though it was a culinary display against a shimmering silver platter, and they devoured those eyes in their powerful acid.

And when he was dying upon his sheets, he inhabited that tub so full of scorching fluid, and allowed new pain to kiss battered skin so coded in lacerations.

During that time, cerulean gems pressed to those scars left by hateful bullets, fingers easing their blades upon that mangled instance of flesh.

Even those stinging attempts did not hurt as much as looking at the one that so inhabited his empty vase, overflowing with barren soil.

Ludwig had assisted his country; he had lied to it; he had become Germany's slave, and because of that slavery, love had pushed him from an airplane without as much as a square of fabric to slow that imminent death.

No. Fate was never so kind.

When that body landed, it could not rise a second time.

And the one that would help that broken man from his bed inside that great field of dust had fled, growing a pair of wings before his chest slammed upon that cruel sheet rock.

So depression sunk into those open pores and devoured that fragmented heart as a rare delectable.

There were attempts at acceptance, that blond trying to swallow pain shaped as a dagger and giving away his foolish ideals as the destitute man pawning his last great artifacts.

Yet, it was all for noting. Not a thing had been gained when those lavish possessions were taken; nothing has wrought benefit from blindly ingesting a razor, blood soaking those pink lips left so exalted by the Führer himself.

It was quicksand; it was cyanide; it was death; it was life.

And it was pain.

So much was pain.

And Ludwig did the only thing he was capable of doing.

He took breath.

Naturally, he was not alive. But his lungs acted as though they were feeding progression, inhaling and exhaling. And inhaling and exhaling, and inhaling and exhaling.

They had preformed their cardinal duty before that Italian came and they did again when he was gone, simply collecting breath and setting it free as a butterfly inside a stupid net.

It was there, and so suddenly, it was gone. Those limbs so purposed for flight carrying that evasive and afraid creature to a new domain outside that ridiculous cage.

Just as Feliciano.

Feliciano _was_ breath.

He had to be, because the German realized that he was truly breathing only when that olive hued painting was at his side, telling him he _could_ indeed do this, or that; that he could conquer the obstacles that stubbed him. That he _could_ create a portrait meant to hang upon a venerated wall.

And causing him to breathe, not only plain air but rich life.

Ludwig's heart had functioned after a dormant winter casting near to a lifetime, and all so suddenly it had fallen again into a deep snow.

There was hope; hope as well as doubt. Those new words defined that lost soul, so consumed with displacing frost to locate that shining locket.

Its fall was regarded, and still, the man could not replace it within his starving palm.


	17. Chapter 17

Ludwig went back to work, unable to collapse into himself any longer.

So he sat in his space, his eyes tired, his boots loud, his soul dissolved beneath an iron veil. They all glanced to him, as though they were playing witness to a great statue's descend to the stone beneath it. Not one attempted to catch those breaking limbs.

His wells, having been washed in near hell fire, touched to each of their judgmental visages, shattered blue jewels reflecting their own German faces.

Those men did not have secrets.

Ludwig sat down.

Feliciano had run to the other side of that chamber, hiding beneath the excuse of busy work. He was now in that Japanese man's company, the one person not one of those natives was willing to speak with.

For a moment, through those pink rimmed windows, the battered man stared in his indignation. He threw daggers with sight, hoping to raise the chin of that damn Italian who had dragged him through a den of steaming coal.

Papers were adjusted and that glance was kept in its home, stuffed so generously around the olive skinned painting.

The Asian looked up in blatant confusion, feeling the attention that was intended for his hide.

They looked at one another for expansive seconds, those tired wells kept fixated in their direction as they were construed in simple paint.

Finally, the unintended victim glanced back to those numerous symbols lining his own sheet, the very lines no one else could possibly attempt to read. Something was said to Feliciano, and the target glanced to Ludwig, their gazes to connect as fragments of a jigsaw puzzle.

It took numerous tries for those pieces to fit.

Pain lied in those sapphire orbs while deep black help writhing apology. The Italian's mouth twisted as if giving reasons and truth and each of those horrid things the German man so desired, all in incoherent static.

Finally, the Italian shrank into his shell, constructed as a powerful tank, and he progressed upon obligation.

As did the other.

The unintended witnesses pretended not to notice those stares, the apology, the accusation, the very death. But they had indeed gathered that Ludwig looked like hell, and Feliciano held a great cap over his once perpetual shine.

That they were not sitting next to one another, whispering.

Something was soiled.

But not one was certain of what.

They built their suspicions; it was a natural thing to do.

And when that was done entertained those curious minds, focus was donated more generously to irritating syllables, stacked one against the other as a sky scraper of looming requirement.

Each of them worked as though they were slaves near to an offer of glorious freedom.

Which one had done their tasks most justice?

So they all went on, thinking, solving, and worrying about each of those mundane things that so composed them. Flesh dyed an a single hue, and all of those pigments were the same, all except for the two who exhibited blues and purples and howling yellows, lives once so simple made nothing but a maze of grand complexities.

They thought of one another, in affection and in bitter uncertainty, but neither was willing to allow true word from those desiccating mouths. Guile overtook their throats and sickness defined their expressions.

When the room emptied, that pair looked in the other's direction, nothing said to either party at first.

Feliciano drew nearer to his admirer, glancing to his feet in that churning pressure.

"…I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you."

The German man could see pain developing within the other's luminescent frames.

But he did nothing more than look on.

"I hope you'll forgive me. If you can't I understand."

With that, the broken and beautiful statue left, lips twisting and attention unable to drink of the accusation being thrown into his gaping palms.

With even more towering discomfort, the blond went home, sinking in a sort of remorse that did not belong to him.

And the next day came.

And the next.

And the next.

And then the one after that.

Ludwig did not stare at the one he was still so infatuated with. He hardly glanced to anyone. That dutiful being only kept to himself, did his work, and went home, crushed beneath his depression.

Days faded to mere numbers, as did hours, and life sunk into the great well of screaming loss.

Feliciano looked on with sorrow flourishing inside his heart, unable to comfort Ludwig, or quell that fire he blamed himself for beginning.

So that lovely muse expired within the silence, just as his dear companion had been.

It was an exasperating and slow death.

But either swallowed that churning upset, knowing that their only true freedom was indeed kept within two polished coffins.

Love battered them as the plague, infecting that blood and leading them to their nooses.

There could only be acceptance.

And that was all there was.


	18. Chapter 18

After watching those two shrivel for incoherent days, those coworkers grew somewhat suspicious. There was knowledge that the strange pair used to sit amongst one another, just as there was attention paid to their own spaces.

They took to the look in either of their pained eyes, those wells executed and their souls dissolved all in different acid.

And those glances were the perfect nourishment for mangled rumors.

Maybe they had been in a brutal argument.

Maybe one stole the other's woman.

Maybe money was stolen.

Maybe they were attracted to one another…

But not _Ludwig._

Ludwig was simply too perfect to hold such appetite for men. It was ridiculous to even place attempt at such a suggestion.

Yet, there were still those lingering chances. There always were.

More suspicion was pressed against the bleeding flesh of the German man; some even asked him what was wrong. They contacted him after those horrid days at work, when the space had been voided, and he was still there, engulfed within foreign words.

"Ludwig, what's wrong?" Or, "Ludwig, you look like hell".

"Ludwig, what happened?"

And each and every time, he would give the same answer, molded so many instances before that customer was even served. "I'm just depressed."

"Why? Is everything alright?"

Then, "No…I feel like my life doesn't have much meaning. I work, and I work, and I work. And then after work I sleep and I work more. I don't like to do anything, and when I'm not working, I'm thinking about working." The answer was well rehearsed.

"Well…What happened with Feliciano?"

"We got into a fight. I don't want to talk about it."

Then, as the scene came to its curtain, "Oh, I'm sorry. I hope you can work things out." Or, "That's a shame." Or, "Well, I never liked Feliciano anyway."

Eventually, they stopped asking those probing inquiries, having all the information they would possible need, and all they would likely receive.

It was not as though Ludwig had lied. His spiraling depression; that view towards those completed actions was labeled as mundane. Sometimes he would be far too tired and broken to take nourishment.

It reminded of what he had lost.

Ludwig missed that Italian's food.

He simply missed that Italian.

When that dour presence was not contained within a windowless dungeon, it demonized his pathetic home, lying in bed, rotting; sitting within the bathtub, rotting. Or perhaps limp against the couch, rotting.

There were days that were better. That blond statue would force himself from the front door, walking into that wicked town and drifting into absolutely no particular direction.

At times, it was as though he was dragging himself against pavement, a wheel built horribly in the shape of a square. For his wings were fractured, and he could no longer fly.

There was only the ability to stumble, a drunken man taken by savage addiction.

And once, Ludwig came to the very place that gallery had once laid, those portraits gone and nothing left in their place.

He recalled their joy together; that happiness when the painting was brought home to show that gorgeous companion.

He recalled that smile that reflected against those pristine lips.

He recalled admiring that fantastic blue, and the very truth that the hue itself had been granted to him by those glittering palms.

It was then Ludwig realized he was a mess.

He knew it before; of course he had known.

_But dear God… _

So in that state of strange realization, the man turned and walked back home, those battered feathers bandaged and those edges only slightly rounder.

A mild pill had been ingested and had engendered the slow healing that broken figure had so desperately required.

A step made in the positive direction after so many had been taken backward.

A sober to that constant and deadly high.

Of course, Feliciano was still a title that accounted for many meanings; it was still breath; it was still love; it was still life. He was still pain.

But that potent word and its horrid side effects were numbered. Time and realization and acceptance reacting with one another acted as a power antibiotic.

A cure meant to assist in the mending of a fractured soul…

Ludwig allowed that desperate solution to wash over him as healing water, a cure meant to produce quick wellness.

He would still need to fight.

Fight as though that illness was a cancer.

But finally, after having broken legs for such a long duration, the man could march upright again.


	19. Chapter 19

And as soon as those shattered bones were placed inside their plaster, the one withholding that horrid bat returned, wearing that same apologetic expression he had the very first time.

"I'm sorry…"

The criminal had been sobbing, those gorgeous eyes swelling in regret and those cheeks washed of that luscious glow.

"I'm sorry, Ludwig."

It was repeated, as though the German man had not heard that phrase the first instance.

"Why did you come back?" Brows knitted. "It's been nearly three weeks. And I was finally starting to feel better…"

"I know." That cheek was wiped. "I'm sorry. I haven't stopped thinking about you since I left. I-I felt so horrible. I only wanted to hold you and tell you how sorry I was that I had hurt you…I didn't want to make you so miserable. I never had. I'm so sorry…I left because your safety is so important to me. To be sure that you wouldn't die." Tears descended against those dirtied surfaces, tears having been present before enough courage was compiled to pound upon that daunting barrier. They washed bronze paint from their canvas.

"Feliciano, don't cry. Just come in."

"Thank you."

And he did.

The Italian sat upon the couch and calmed himself a moment, Ludwig shutting the door behind him and finding location at his side.

"I'm sorry…"

"Well…It's alright. I might very well have done the same thing."

"I know. But you were so hurt…And my heart hurt too. That's why I had to see you. I meant it when I said I loved you. I'm not a liar." A desperate breath. "I missed you. And I thought about you every day for at least an hour, so you know I love you." A smile soaking in wetted emotion. "I thought of returning the day after I left and every day after that too. But I'm no good for you. I'm going to get either of us killed, but I had to see you again. I just wanted to be sure that you were alright." Lips contracted and lids welded lashes together.

"Feliciano, please don't cry…" Ludwig's kindly hands held those quivering shoulders.

Another gasp for sacred air. "I'm sorry. I'm just so happy to see you again and-" A hand clasped over those saddened mounds. "And you're still so handsome-" Gasp. "I was expecting your nose to be broken and your eyes to be bruised, for some idiotic reason." A pathetic and dripping grin. "I'm so sorry. I really am. I hurt you and I just walk back in and cry on your couch like a baby. I'm sorry about that too."The tanned man devoured a shallow breath. "I know that you expected me to be gone and not come back. And it's not right for me to return-but I had to. I couldn't watch you everyday like that…I'm sorry." The breaking creature was taken into an embrace, the blond allowing his collarbone to convert to a wondrous pillow.

"You don't have to apologize any longer. It's alright." The strong chin took refuge within that gorgeous thicket of auburn. "Please…I forgive you. Just stop crying. It's upsetting."

"I'm sorry."

"Feliciano."

Through those hopeless gasps came mirth. "I'm such an idiot. But I don't mean to be. And I want to apologize, but you told me not to. So I won't." A pause. "I love you."

"I love you too."

The sobbing man swallowed and pulled softly from his companion. "Thank you…Thank you for everything. Have you eaten dinner yet?"

"No. I haven't."

"Let me make dinner. Please. I'll clean the dishes too. And then I'll clean your whole apartment and make your bed and do your laundry and whatever else you need. _Whatever you want._ Because I love you."

Then Eve bit the apple.

And Feliciano fell into that wondrous sofa.

It was lucky that the curtains were set to their duty, and it was lucky that those streets were void of all their usual activity, the hour being so late. And it was lucky no one had paid mangled witness to that beautiful Italian shattering upon Ludwig's frigid doorstep.

It was lucky Ludwig loved Feliciano so heavily.

He might have sent him away, had he been any other.

But Feliciano was Feliciano.

And despite those shortcomings, Ludwig loved him dearly.

Their lips conversed softly, and arms fell around one another, a passion growing within either stomach.

A gentle moan drifted from the golden being's orifice, that bottom lip becoming slack and allowing entrance to the German man's starving tongue.

Organs tied together and embraced as the components of a fantastic braid, pleasure floating from either impassioned throat.

And after frantic seconds, they came apart, glancing to one another.

"What's the matter with you, Ludwig?" A slight press. "You're a great kisser." Another touch. "And you mean to tell me-" Smooch. "That after something like that-" Pop. "You haven't gotten laid 'in a while'?" And then that playful curl, combined with a suckle upon the German's bottom rim. "You're too damn handsome to stay away from." Feliciano's olive hand traced the frame of his darling's chiseled visage.

Without words, strong hand unbuttoned the other's blouse, the very same one that bronzed idol had taken his arrival in.

"You're going to have to help me."

That honeyed chest came to the air, strong hands tracing over that caramel flesh.

"I've never done this with another man before."

A palm exhausted upon Feliciano's neck.

"You have to be gentle with me."

"I can do that."

"Good…" A free limb settled upon placid knuckles. "Take off your clothes. And I'll take off mine." A shortened kiss. "Then I want you to sit down. I'll take care of you. And you can take care of me."

Ludwig listened, rising and unbuttoning that handsome uniform, cloth nearly suffocating him, dropping that fabric around those ankles and allowing that faithful zipper its retirement.

The belt slipped from those hoops.

Those trousers fell.

And the proud man stood, cheeks lightened by shy hues and still well contained within those undergarments.

Feliciano smiled. "You're so cute." His own hide was torn from that shining anatomy. "Don't be shy. You're sexy."

"Thank you."

Ludwig watched as the other's legs became barren, his waist left without censorship, that last layer pulled away with those worn garments.

There he was, nude.

"Come on…" Words in Italian. "Take that off."

With giddy fingers, cotton fell to those churning toes and the unconscious one sat against that cushion, thighs slightly spread with gazes focused upon that naked statue waiting upon his action.

Already, Ludwig was erect, that impressive length kissing to that muscular stomach.

Without communication, Feliciano came before those knees and reached for that defenseless manhood, slowing coaxing that firmness.

"Mmm…"

"Do you play with yourself?"

Sapphires alleviated their lids and devoured that lovely man, his fingers lingering upon that thigh.

"What the hell kind of question is that?"

"I'm wondering if you ever play with yourself." A slower stroke. "Do you?"

"No…Not often. Ah."

"Well…I do." That head was given a quick press of those shapely petals. "I do it a lot too." A sensuous lick. "I like to think of you."

Ludwig became even harder.

For a moment, that tanned face rested upon that heating leg, near to that thicket of golden follicles.

"I've wanted to have your hands…Stroking me. And then I would imagine you inside of me." Eyes embellished in their euphoria came to that helpless soul, sugared voice still draining in the god's mother tongue. "And do you know what I would do?"

"Ahh…What would you do?"

The deity so composed in wondrous paint stared into the German man's composition, still messaging that cock so focused on converting to plain stone.

"I put my fingers inside of me. And it feels good." That beautiful mouth finally engulfed Ludwig's enflamed tip, tongue conquering flesh within all its horrid trickery. Blades still planted buttery kisses about that defenseless shaft.

Ludwig's lips spread, neck relaxing upon the rim of that worn couch.

"Feliciano…"

The pretty Italian lidded his vision, still drawing gently upon the tip, blood coursing faster as though it was he in the place of Ludwig.

The painting had not felt such strong compulsion or emotion, his heart pounding inside that sweetened chest. He had worried that Ludwig would not forgive him; would not love him after he had escaped with such cowardly feet.

Had they indeed been in different rolls against that stark stage, the golden skinned idol was unsure if there would be amnesty directed toward the other if the same occurrence had passed.

But there was euphoric elation, because so few had grown so dear to Feliciano.

Many times, he would meet those who would place attempts at damaging him, feigned acquaintances and terrible people. Lovers with bloodied knives and phrase spit upon the floor as hackneyed acid.

Then there was Ludwig.

Who meant more to him than his very own brother; his own blood.

Tear descended.

And the blithe soul was grateful Ludwig did not notice.

He ceased them quickly.

"Ahh…"

The man stopped his donation of wondrous pleasure to his invalid companion's quick essence and rose to sit upon his lap, those legs spread and knees on either side of strong thighs.

Powerful hands removed those droplets, sealing reddened skin with a sweet brand.

And the tanned painting was taken into a warmed embrace, the blond man's sensible head resting next to that olive frame so cursed in pulchritude.

"I love you…" Curious blades soaked within a golden sea, tucking fragments behind the man's ear.

"I love you too." Another kiss against a blushing lobe.

"I'm going to get something. Just wait here a moment."

"Alright."

So Feliciano left, going into the kitchen and returning with a clear glass bottle brimming with fluid oil.

And he landed back upon his welcoming perch, bringing the cap from that curious concoction.

"What do I do?"

"Dip your fingers into this and then ease them into me. Please be careful. This part can be painful if you're too harsh."

"I can do that."

And Ludwig followed his lover's brief instruction, allowing those numerals within that viscous and minute pool, and then allotting them gently to the other's opening.

His index sank in primarily, that appendage slightly wriggling and molding enough room for the next.

As the one caught upon that sofa fulfilled his occupation, Feliciano wetted that free member with slick substance, finger stroking from the base to rosy tip.

Either cried, cautious of their volume, well aware that walls were worn thin. They allowed their slight and pleasured upset, euphoria leaking from those parting lips and soaking eyes as though something within their base essence had been overtaken; conquered; thrown from naïve power.

They dropped into the arms of that great well labeled affection, not taking their rope, or their candles, or even their sanity. But they had one another, and bodies twined as wire within a current. They wore those senseless blindfolds with unending pride and continued to drop, until they found themselves upon the other side of that great core so embellished in mere diversity.

Ecstasy crafted their faces.

And that mess of stroking and digging continued.

Another numeral eased into that nearly untouched crevice, and the rims to that beautiful mouth divided as though they had been torn open.

"Ahh…Did I hurt you?"

"No. This feels great…Are you close?"

"No. Not yet."

"Good." A moan drifted into that thick atmosphere, more lubrication applied to excited digits and spread about Ludwig's member. "I want you inside of me."

There was not reply, merely a sensuous stare.

The shining one wore his luminescence.

"How do you want me?"

"I want you leaned over this couch. And I want you now."

That perfect face was given a kiss saturated in passion, and that graceful intruder moved from his lap and stood before those beaten cushions, the very same set he had taken rest upon numerous times previously.

Hands grasped for support of that make-shift bed and legs were spread, lustful expression strewn so carelessly about that visage.

And Ludwig arrived behind him, guiding that engrossed length into that readied tavern, whimpers lining his tongue and static cremating his blood.

"Ahh…Feliciano."

"You're so big…" Those battered pads were given a slight tug by anticipant palms.

In utter softness, those beaten fingers excavated the Italian's creamy hips, thumbs kneading loving circles into pliable flesh.

Then the first push began, a thrust possessing Ludwig's usually controlled center and birthing more bliss into either figure.

Feliciano bit his bottom lip to prevent screaming of satisfaction.

And they made love, the larger pushing and the smaller bucking, all while blood boiled within cores and souls were nearly melded as one.

They felt their adoration, that emotion soaking nude flesh as the greatest of waters, and pleasure sitting beneath skin as the points of sweetened needles, each singular pore loud and well original.

The couch was left with deformed welds and the air was droned within muted comment, mounds spread and tongues curling while either came close to that shimmering nirvana.

When that German man finished, the other's form was held tightly to his own, that seed granted to the being who offered so much undying euphoria.

They landed upon that surface, the bronzed upon the form of the Aryan, breathing harsh with energy running low.

"I love you…"

"I love you, Ludwig…"

A kiss. "You're still hard."

"I know."

"I'll help you."

"Thank you."

That assistance did not require more than a few easy seconds.

The bed was inhabited shortly after that affectionate display.


	20. Chapter 20

Either lied within that sweet bed, their eyes opened and their bodies intertwined. And after kissing for expansive minutes, they stopped, simply happy regarding one another.

"Ludwig, what are we going to do?"

"I'm not sure…But let's not worry about that. Not now. No one is going to invade this apartment at this very moment. And I haven't relaxed once in the last three weeks."

"I'm sorry Ludwig. I really am." A hand to that warmed collarbone. "Thank you for forgiving me…For everything. For last night too. That was fun." A touch of shapely mounds. "I love you."

"I love you too." A quick simper came upon the blond man's softened canvas.

And seeing that brief joy, the opposite glowed in his finest rays, pigments pounding into a cloud barren sky. "You're happy!" Another beam. "That makes me happy too. I was so used to seeing you upset…" An embrace of the mouth. And another ten after that.

Teeth were shown, causing near nuclear explosion from the viewer of such an abstract anomaly. The widest stretch that serious man had ever seen was written about his companion's visage in a perfect hand, and it almost looked as though tears would breach those blissful cheeks.

"You're so handsome when you smile…"

"You're handsome all the time."

To that, the lovely man moved in nearer to the one who had taken him as such an easy hostage, inducing glittering sentiment.

"Feliciano?"

"Yes?"

"Will you tell me about your life?" Although the inquiry did seem misplaced, the man asking had wondered what exactly had lowered his darling within Germany; which power had lifted him and threw him within the crux of so many lives; why he was stolen in the very first place.

"Why do you want to know about that?"

"Because I love you and I'm curious."

"Well." A sigh. "It's sad. I don't like speaking about it. My life had improved so much since then, and I'm not the same person any longer."

"What did you do?"

Air. "For a long time I was…homeless. Actually, it had been that way for so long, I can hardly remember a time that I wasn't on the streets. My brother took care of me. At least, he tried. We lost our home when I was still in school; when Romano lost his job…He never told me why he was fired. I always suspected he got into a fight with someone. But I never bothered asking. It wouldn't change anything."

Ludwig only nodded, listening with every last fiber inside those longing bones.

"And life was hard ever since then…I kept going to school. I tried my hardest to do what I was told. I always made good grades but…That doesn't really matter without any home or any food to eat. Romano tried to get a job again, and so did I. But it seemed like there was nothing even remotely available."

A sow pause.

"I don't blame them. If I was the owner of a shop I wouldn't want to hire some homeless kids. We were dirty. And to be on the streets, there had to be something wrong with you. Normal people had houses and families…"

Feliciano took his moments, all sacrificed and bled for thought.

"So we did what we had to do. We stole. Food, clothing…Whatever we might have needed. We would beg too. But it wasn't enough. How can a few coins be nearly enough? Eventually, we began thinking of ways to make money. I was always a talented artist. So Romano stole the canvases and I took the paint."

"I had no idea…"

"I know." The Italian continued to weave that story composed of such destitution. "We would sell my portraits. Some sold for quite a lot. It didn't get us a house. But we were able to eat, and I was able to go to school, just as long as I kept painting." Brows sunk beneath thought.

"Sometimes, we didn't even need to steal the paint. But Romano insisted we did, to save what we could. I always felt so guilty. It wasn't fair to those store runners. They were trying to survive just as we were."

Ludwig continued to listen, uncertain of what words to offer that sweetened counterpart.

And without reply, more of that bitter fate was brought to knowledge. "But we did what we had to do…And I started to learn German." Eyes grasped at that ceiling. "I figured I would make money knowing that language, since our countries were allies. And I worked so hard…I studied until my eyes would bleed. With every word, I tried to murder my accent, so if someone was listening to me, they would think my first language _was _German. That was the most difficult part. Romano would tell me to shut up because I always had something on my tongue he couldn't understand."

"Well…You do. I would probably think you were German if I wasn't told."

"Thank you, Ludwig." A saddened curve. "Eventually, after so much practice, I became fluent. And I got a job after going through a few interviews and tests. The government hired me, and I would help Germans around Italy. Some of them were just visiting and others were there on business. Some worked for governments themselves. The pay was fairly good. I started to save my money in a bank so we wouldn't lose it, and Romano and I were going to buy an apartment. But I kept moving up in the ranks, because along the way I had picked up other languages as well."

"So they asked you to come here?"

"That's right. They asked me if I would go and they told me all about the advantages-that I would be working for the S. S. and I would get to wear a new uniform and everything; that people would gain instant respect for me just by glancing at me. And that sounded wonderful. Because I was so tired of getting spit upon and laughed at and avoided like I had the plague…So I took the job. I didn't even think twice about it. Then I was told that I would be meeting with a man named Ludwig, and he would show me everything."

The Italian man held his saddest expression, lips crunching beneath that sweet nose.

"…And then I told Romano. The first thing he did was smack me in the head. He told me, 'you moron. Where does that leave me? I can't speak German. I can't even get a job here. Who would hire some homeless Italian who doesn't even know how to say hello?' And I said to him, 'I'll take care of everything. You can come with me. We'll find somewhere to live; everything will be alright.' But Romano refused to listen. He had made up his mind. He wasn't going…I can honestly say that I was hurt. That was painful. After everything I had done, the studying, the stealing, the saving, the work…And my brother just smacks me, tells me it's not good enough. I would have taught him to speak German. I would have found him a job, or at least something to do. Hell, I would have let him sit around in my apartment while I did everything. But as soon as I told him, he was so willing to give up…To say no."

Feliciano swallowed hard, as though emotion lay stagnant within that throat and trying to flow against that obstinate tongue.

"So I left him in Italy. I took everything I had, my clothes, my cat- who I had found in the streets as well- and all of my money. Because I had earned it. And I worked so hard for it. The night before I left, I said good-bye to my brother, who was still upset with me, and I rented a hotel room. I took the longest bath I ever had, because I was starting over, and I had to get all of that muck from my skin."

Gazes met and lips touched only a moment.

"Then I met you. And since that day, my life has improved."

And Ludwig took his time to allow teeth to sink into that great pill of all that had been said, his gaze fishing within the poignant wells of his opposite.

Then it had all made perfect logic, why that lovely man did not raise his voice when asked of his life previously; why the German man's order had brought such affection for that very apartment.

That he had indeed gone through worse than sleeping outside a few days.

Because a large portion of a hard life had been spent there.

"Feliciano, you have a place to live now, don't you?"

"Yes, I do…I rented an apartment when I left. I'll never be on the street again if I don't have to be. It's really nice too. I think you would like it, even though I have almost no furniture."

The German man calculated a moment. "You're amazing. You can go through so much and still manage to smile. I need to be more like you, Feliciano."

Plump petals curled. "You're kind. Don't worry about changing."

Ludwig kissed his muse. "Will you move back in with me? It's lonely without you here…"

"Won't that seem odd? They'll notice."

"We'll tell them we made up. And now we're roommates again. That seems pretty normal, doesn't it?"

"I suppose so. But we need to be careful."

"I know. Do you want to come back?"

"I would love to. It's empty in that place. And I missed you. I missed you every day." A press and more consideration. "I'll come back. I'll move in tomorrow if you want me to."

"You should. I miss your cooking…"

The Italian released his mirth. "Then I will."

And they remained, wrapped within one another's flesh, thoughts birthed between them against invisible electrical wire. Ludwig accepted the reality of the god set before him, who had seemed to have overcome a mountain drenched in snakes and jagged boulders. There was utter veneration and sympathy and mere adoration for that beautiful statue, which shined as a city against that exalted hill.

Ludwig felt beyond blessed to have such warmth upon his chest, to press his mounds to such a ray of golden sunshine.

Just as Feliciano clasped fortune as an instant millionaire, not willing to set his darling Ludwig free.


	21. Chapter 21

They say next to one another again, and the entire world, once so shaken by rage and misery, was returned to well. No longer did Ludwig's eyes appear baggy and defeated and no longer did Feliciano fight that compulsion to leave that room when those wells of darkened ink took the visage of his broken lover.

And of course, everyone noticed.

A little more suspicion came to reality, and eyebrows elevated, if only slightly.

If one was looking in from the outside, it certainly did seem odd that after nearly three weeks of bitter separation and sorrow, that pair was placed back into their bliss, sunshine draining from either of them as though they were that great orb themselves.

The way they regarded one another…

It was almost as though they were _in love_.

But how could they be? That was simply absurd.

Yet they kept suspicion, the good hawks they were, as though watching two rats from the sky so far above. They were ready to strike at the barest movement.

And Ludwig knew, being the very same breed of war bird.

Feliciano was simply cautious, well aware that his flesh was kept beneath a searing microscope.

Beneath those horrid gazes a game was created, the Italian and the German burying truths beneath thin and nearly transparent veils.

They placed their inquiries.

"What happened? Did you two make up?"

"Yes. We did."

"What were you fighting about in the first place?"

"I thought Ludwig was too boring, so when I told him that, we got into a huge argument. He told me I was irresponsible and I told him he was dull. But we made up."

"And how did you do that?"

"I apologized." The painting gave his response.

"I see."

Observations came as well, not as questions, but accusations.

"You two seem fairly close to one another."

"You're so happy together."

"You seem like a married couple…"

But it was nothing more than that.

Suspicion could not bring truth; only proof could take such dark and tangled substance to the glisten of harsh knowledge.

Feliciano went on living with Ludwig; Dom returned as did the few shirts that sweetened Italian possessed. They were stored within the German man's closet, and finally, that once suffering soul came to feel that his own apartment was home.

And they grew closer together, cores sinking even deeper into that richened soil and stems twining.

There was still an aspect of guilt, because for so very long, that blond man had been told that being a homosexual was something well disgusting and fetid, a slap to any healthy Aryan man.

But Ludwig had not been happy before, nor had he been happy when he was forced to abandon that lovely man that so captivated him.

As an alcoholic to his favorite bottle.

Ludwig was simply unprepared for rehab.

He was too blissful to be pressed into another corner that he did not wish to inhabit. Because finally, joy was present and frequent, as it had been seldom before. And such a sentiment was a commodity so few owned.

Feliciano and Ludwig would go out with one another, to dinner, a movie, to look at portraits, simply take a walk within those pretty streets. And they would make love. Every Saturday night, the pair would fall into one another's arms, and if they could not, there was always another set of hours.

And so, every evening they would kiss one another goodnight, sleeping so secretly entangled within one another's limbs. The drapes closed and their figures were wrapped within a comfortable sheet.

They behaved as a married couple would, inhabiting comfortable blankets, devouring meals together, living the very same life kept at one another's side.

That Italian seemed to be nothing but mirthful, that truth kept well serious. Feliciano had not lied to his darling, not returning to simply shatter the German's warmed core.

Just as Ludwig was absolutely certain of his own emotion.

They adored one another, a certain affection born that neither had experienced before.

And one night, they lied curled against one another, two figures with flesh well warmed.

But the one holding such golden hue was somewhat shaken, thought sitting within his eyes a great fish trapped inside a pathetic well.

Ludwig noticed, being the sleeper so near to him.

"What's wrong?"

"Oh…Nothing."

"Feliciano, you know you can tell me."

"I know I can…" The tone was solemn. "I'm just thinking about my brother."

"What about him?"

"Well…I'm worried about him. Speaking of him reminded me that he still existed; that he wasn't just a phantom who I could leave behind without so much as a second thought. The entire time I've been here, I've tried to hard not to think of home…Well. What home I had; those Italian streets…I ran and I didn't want to look back, like I was being chased by some kind of monster. But if he saw me now…I know he'd be ashamed…That I could just forget him. Like he was nothing. I don't know." That shining figure shifted in his discomfort. "I don't know…" The phrase was repeated as though something of heavy pertinence held to its very being. "For the first time, after all of these weeks, I feel homesick. And it seems like I should and shouldn't be. My life has improved so much now, and I'm happy because I have you, and I have a great job, and I don't have to worry so much about the future, even if we are hiding things. But I can't forget Italy. I never can. It's in my blood and Romano is cut from the same cloth. I think I miss him. I think I miss Italy. But I know I don't miss the way things were. I'll never miss that life."

There was a gaping silence, that blond trying to decide upon comforting phrase.

But the troubled continued to speak.

"It's like when you went to France…It doesn't matter how nice it might have been. You missed home, didn't you?"

"Of course. It's so different there. It's even different here. Your home is almost like your bones. You're nothing without it. I'm familiar with homesickness. I've had it before…I've had it forever."

"Oh Ludwig, don't say that. It makes me so sad."

"I'm sorry."A soft kiss.

"Your life has been hard hasn't it?"

"I think everyone has a difficult life, at some point or another."

"I suppose so. But I think yours has been harder than mine."

"What? Why would you say that?" Ludwig pulled back to glance into those ink saturated droplets.

"Why wouldn't I? _You were shot. Three times._ I'd rather be homeless than at war."

"Well, I'd rather be at war then be homeless…"

"Maybe we should switch. I'll take some muscles and bullet wounds and you can have dark skin and the ability to paint." An odd grin twisted against the lovely man's mounds. "Never mind. You would look so odd with a tan."

"_Oh, thank you. _How _kind,_ Feliciano."

The one beneath accusation laughed. "I'm sorry. But I love you anyway. You know I do. You're beautiful the way you are."

"Thank you…" Another press donned to those plump lips. "You are too. And you're not meant to have a sunburn. You skin is too pretty to be any other color."

Feliciano drew closer. "Do you really believe that? You wouldn't prefer me blond?"

"No. Not at all. You look warm and healthy. I love your skin…It's smooth too." Another honeyed tinge.

"You're sweet."

Either came to a comfortable quiet, thought still clamoring as ten thousand separate whispers linked in their conformity.

"…Feliciano?"

"Yes?"

"Would you be happier if I bought you some paints?"

"You don't have to do that."

"But would you enjoy it?"

"Of course I would. I haven't painted in so long…"

"Then I'll buy you some."

"Alright…But I want to paint you first. That's the only way I'll be happy. You'll have to model for a few hours…"

"Well. It should be interesting. No one's ever painted me."

"It's about time, then…Thank you Ludwig. I love you."

"I love you too."

And either fell into dreams slightly easier, excitement and ease living within their hearts, Ludwig determined to embellish his shimmering gem in fine silk.


	22. Chapter 22

Ludwig brought home tubes of colorful pigmentation, so prepared and kept within their prime to be converted to blissful water colors. He had bought twenty-five of those expensive and wondrous hues, as well as a pallet to house each of those bright puddles.

That pragmatic calculator was well aware that twenty-five might have very well been too drastic; that one could indeed create art with three of those simplistic primary colors and black and white in assistance.

But the usual thinker was not himself, or perhaps that 'self' had been severely altered. Regardless, whoever that fresher soul was, he was love-struck and love, having its potent and alcoholic qualities, could convert even the most intelligent of being to driveling fools.

Ludwig was absolutely no different.

He floated towards his home, so determined to make that gorgeous statue blissful.

Feliciano was aware that he would be receiving paints, so a canvas was purchased for a single piece, and he awaited the sweetened return of his infatuated lover, of course, after he had finished telling him to purchase no more than ten of those shining hues so enhanced by richly made pigments.

And he had told that dumb founded man to buy the cheapest brand possible.

One could not even place imagination upon that inevitable expression as Ludwig came through that door, bearing the priciest of tangibles and offering fifteen more than what was requested.

Feliciano certainly shrieked.

"Ludwig! What exactly is that?"

"It's paint. Just what you wanted, right?"

"_No!_ How much did you pay for all of that? I asked you to get _cheap_ paints. Not-_These._" The bronzed man came to his companion, searching through that heaving bag as though it was forbidden contraband. "What are these colors? _Magenta? Scarlet? Emerald? _That doesn't sound much like 'purple, red and green', now does it?"

"Well, maybe I didn't hear you correctly. You should try speaking up."

A curse came in Italian and that lovely man released great sigh composed of such heavy frustration. "Oh Ludwig, I can't accept these. You know I can't. It's too much-"

Feliciano was quieted by a pair of lips upon his own, negotiating so sweetly.

"Yes you can. I bought them for you, and I can't use them. I can hardly draw more than a two dimensional building. Would it make you happy to have them?"

"Of course it would. They're beautiful."

"Then they're yours."

Another release of compacted wind. "Well, fine. But don't think you can win me over easily. You still have to be an obedient little model and hold still for a few hours. You'll be even more handsome now, in these paints…" A slight reprimand. "What am I going to do with you? I can't even be upset, looking into those eyes."

The Italian gave his kiss.

"Go sit on the couch."

So Ludwig did as his lover prepared his paints, that canvas already in its proper location.

And he returned, laughing.

"What are you doing?"

"What you told me to do. Sitting on the couch."

"Ludwig, that's not what I meant. When I said, 'model' I didn't mean with your clothes on. I want to paint those muscles of yours. I can't do that if you're wearing that top."

"Wait…You didn't say-"

"No. Clothes off."

"But-"

"Do it."

"Feliciano, please…What if someone sees it? There's no point in painting something if you can't display it."

"It's not about displaying it. It's about me painting your body on this canvas." That bronzed finger touched to that smooth and virgin surface. "You've had no problem with being nude before. What's really so different now? You should be honored. You're the first person I'm going to paint in Germany. And I _want_ to paint you. Because you're beautiful, and these colors are beautiful and this lighting is beautiful." Those Lips curled. "So stop arguing. Clothes off."

Ludwig only stared.

"Clothes off!"

Finally, those reluctant hands took to those obdurate buttons, cloth falling from toned shoulders. Ludwig stood, unclasping those pants and allowing that layer to his ankles, still covered within those worn socks. Those were the next to be peeled away, a serpent tearing away its hide to reveal an even more silken base beneath that primary layer.

All that was left was that final garment, housing that very organ the painter was so intent upon.

The other fabrics were folded before that grand veil was removed.

And then there was nothing between that lovely model and the air surrounding his suddenly frozen constitution.

"That's a wonderful start, but you're going to have to pose differently. How about you lie down?"

"Of course…"

So Ludwig placed his nude frame upon those sugared cushions, so worn by nights of love making and that golden man lying upon it.

Placid hide was kept against sweet touches, an electrical current born within that blood, lovely rouge inhabiting strong cheek bones.

"Alright…Rest your arm over your stomach, and let it touch to the couch. Don't hold onto anything; just allow it to rest."

"Feliciano-"

A hand was held in the air in swift motion, silencing any of those uprising questions.

"No talking."

Ludwig looked as though he desired to grumble mangled profanity.

"That's perfect. Don't move." A grin beaming in the poor blond man's blatant irritation. "You can do it, Ludwig. Don't worry. It's only a few long, silent hours."

"Wonder-"

"No talking!"

Ludwig mouthed out a single word. 'Sorry.'

And that shimmering being only grinned.

Feliciano placed pigmentation upon that longing canvas, regarding Ludwig within those deepened eyes, so welling in their glittering inspiration. The muse was no longer the muse and that hopeless poet became the idol that offered so many that screaming and undying light.

For once, that muscular soldier felt handsome. Despite those strong limbs, Ludwig was on a constant path of improvement, hands working in quick motion and mind scrambling as a thousand angered hornets from a fallen nest.

But those winged and aggressive things fell into a sharpened see of unending green and the air finally grew still and barren of that horrid noise, a garden no longer drenched inside its fear and chaos.

Because Ludwig was admired.

Because he was able to bring happiness.

Because he too, had fallen into the possessive embrace of adoration.

And because that very same beauty had sunk inside his lonesome net as well.

In that time, Ludwig wished to tell Feliciano of how high his worth indeed was; to express each of those deep crimson emotions; to tell that painting that he was loved.

Yet, in respect, his mouth was wound shut, and not one of those desired phrases passed its barrier bound in such harsh rope.

Ludwig simply lied within his assigned place, allowing sights welded of such rich glass to pass along his abdominals, those legs, his arms kept in such honeyed peace, and his face, poised upon an open palm.

It was evening when that artist completed his work.

"You can move now. I'm finished."

The German released his air as though he had been containing breath for lengthily months. "Thank you."

"No, thank you. You did a good job." The usual and always benevolent grin. "You're a great model, Ludwig. We should do this more often."

"Well. I don't know about that."

There was not a response and the once still man reached for his clothing.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"Getting dressed."

"I didn't say you could put your clothes on. Put that down. Come over here." The first button came undone.

The blond man smiled.

And the brunette smiled back.

They made love.

And went to bed happy, all too distracted to worry about that drying article.

There was euphoria in either of their stomachs, and Ludwig and Feliciano slept well that night.


	23. Chapter 23

The painting was placed within that closet after being heavily admired for countless minutes, mostly by the artist who was taken within such shameless pride for his work.

Ludwig felt odd regarding it, as one might feel strange listening to their own voice within a recording. It did not seem as though that man in such hues was him, despite those fantastic details and impassioned brush strokes.

It sat against that wall, covered in a great veil of clothing and was fully prepared to collect legions of bitter dust.

And the pair went out together after another week of agonizing translation, kept beneath those sunny streets with silent happiness strewn about their faces.

Feliciano glanced to his companion and did not omit word, although message was well comprised beneath those deepened wells.

Then he pointed that sight elsewhere, inquisition occupying space within those innocent clouds.

"Feliciano, did you want to say something?"

"Oh, no…" And a slight breath. "I don't have all too much to say."

"You don't have to lie to me." There was concern within the German man's intelligent sapphires. "What is it?" Phrase drained in Italian, a language so few would comprehend.

"Well. I want to hold hands with you, but I know we can't. I'm so used to displaying my affections but now I have to keep them hidden. I hate the fact that I can't love you…"

"I know…It's hard. And dangerous. But there isn't much that can be done. This is society. It's already risky enough, what we're doing."

The Italian gave another burst of frustrated air. "Hitler can't be right all the time. Haven't you noticed the paranoia? It's suffocating. Like a virus and everyone is infected. It's a straight jacket." Furrowed brows. "Maybe we should leave."

"_Leave?_ Feliciano, we can't just _leave._"

"Why? People move all the time."

"But why would we move? We're Nazis in Germany. It looks suspicious, especially because we're officers in the S.S. Why would we leave? We're not Jewish or gypsies or anything all too obvious."

"Why does it matter if we look 'suspicious'? We're leaving. We could go somewhere far away. Maybe even somewhere like America. People can do anything there. We won't have to worry about being caught or any of that. Things could be simple."

"America?"

"They won't follow us. We're out of their reach."

"Can you even speak English?"

"No. But I've learned other languages before. How hard can it be? If you speak French, Spanish, German and Italian then English should be cake shouldn't it? They're all the same anyway."

"And I would teach you. English isn't so bad."

"I know you would."

"Well…I don't know." The German man thought a long moment, as though he had placed a new sort of candy within his mouth and was uncertain to those new flavors; so he rolled that confection upon his tongue.

Not once had Ludwig considered leaving that lovely little apartment, as though the very option had been hidden beneath heavy floorboards. There was not even knowledge of them being loose.

But to America…Where they might even be able to purchase their own home and be as noisy as they wished to be, to live without fear and release those writhing secrets…

Of course, they would be hated. A German and an Italian…There was no worse combination of companions.

But there was hatred or possible death.

There had to be other Germans in America. Maybe even Germans who had traveled for the same reasons; perhaps even the same situation.

Maybe even the same life.

"If you want, we could even change our names. You can be John and I'll be William and our last names can be Smith or Johnson or whatever. We'll destroy our accents. I've done that once before…"

"No. You're Feliciano. You're too lovely to have a name like William."

"Well, alright. I'll be whatever you want. Just give me an answer."

"I can't _just_ give you an answer. It's not like I'm going to buy a pair of pants or drink a glass of wine. I need time to think."

The Italian absorbed those shined toes. "That's fair. But you should consider it. Please."

"Have you been thinking about this, Feliciano?"

"Yes. I have."

The air became solemn.

"I'm sorry."

"Why?"

"Because I feel like this is my fault. And now it's like I'm holding us back. I am. At least from what you want. I'm sorry. But I can't make a decision so quickly. To be honest, I'm surprised we're together now."

"I know. I am too."

Another burn of that great expanse of dying words.

And suddenly, they halted.

One of their coworkers stood before them.

They did not recall his title, yet that face was something horrid and well familiar, immediate fear and crippling paranoia ebbing inside their blood.

"Hello Ludwig." Blue eyes to the tanner. "Feliciano."

"Hello." A unanimous reply.

"How are you two? Running errands together?"

"Oh yes. We were going to the store…"

"The store?" Raised brows. "Lovely."

"Where are you going?" Ludwig allowed his input.

"I was just out for a walk. I'm certain you know how nice it can be to go out. I seem to find you together a lot; walking."

"It's only a coincidence. Aren't friends usually found together?"

"I suppose so. Don't you two live together?"

"Yes. To save on rent. It makes sense doesn't it?"

"Yes it does." A smile composed in oil and double intention. "Have a lovely day, gentlemen." And those final syllables came in perfect Italian.

The couple was left to that sinking feeling and all their reasonable panic.

What had he heard?

What had been comprehended?

What was to drop upon their skulls?

It was as though either stood in the center of the fateful road, expected cars with blindfolds bound about their eyes and fabric cutting harshly into their ears.

Simply, Ludwig and Feliciano glanced to one another, bottom lips becoming somewhat slack and rather stupid.

"Feliciano."

"Come on. Let's go to the store…"

And so they went to that market, unsure of what exactly was to be done. Their mouths fell to unfettered silence and those cores sunk into a blackened and dead soil, built solely of stone and dried sand.

All in a matter of mere seconds, an obscure suggestion became near need, and English converted to priority to that staggering blond man, who forged sanity due to simplistic paranoia.

Either went home and did not speak.

They were marked before the brush had even kissed those cursed brows.

Stomachs turned and hot blood turned to frigid ice.


	24. Chapter 24

Their hands were connected as two pieces of crimson cloth tied together, fingers creating tight knots as gazes ebbed upon the ceiling, minds releasing storm clouds of mangled distress.

"What are we going to do?"

"I don't know, Ludwig. But I want you to know that I love you, whatever happens…I love you, alright?" The truth was repeated as though the speaker needed to hear those words himself.

"I love you too, Feliciano…" The blond man, that beautiful Aryan, did not speak anything more.

"…We should go to work. It's going to look bad if we don't show up…It'll look bad no matter what we do."

There were not enough coherencies developed upon the other's tongue. Only a mass of colored thought strong enough to evoke bitter tears.

So Ludwig rolled upon his side, engulfing his counterpart within a warm embrace and setting delicate skin to flame as though that bronzed flesh was composed of thin tissue.

A strong palm rested against that pretty neck and those loud sapphires closed, sentiment screaming from behind closed lids. Sentiment began to form, because that once powerful German man was so certain he would walk into that shanty edifice and be stolen away. Taken away and shot; taken away and locked behind camp walls, dressed within striped pajamas and made a mangled experiment.

Taken away and forced to say a permanent good-bye to that shimmering muse, who held his entire heart within those gorgeous palms.

"Oh, Ludwig…"

"I love you, Feliciano. I love you more than I love anyone else in this entire world. I love you more than the Führer; I love you more than Germany in its whole. And I don't want to lose you. I don't want to be separated from you; I don't want to watch you get hurt. I can't let you die because of me." A lower lip was secured and more of those rare and glittering emotions overtook flushed cheeks. "I don't know what to do. Should I run or stay or send you to America, where at least I know you'll be safe. Where they won't touch you. I'll be happy as long as you're alright. I don't care about myself…But I still don't know what to do. I should have run…I should have left so long ago."

"Ludwig, please…You're going to make me cry." But droplets had already inhabited that golden visage. "Don't worry. Because everything is going to be fine. We'll figure something out. We will. I know we will. We love each other too much to give in now. _We've got each other to live for_. And we're going to be alright. But you need to believe that. Because I refuse to give up just because I love you. It's not over and it won't be until we reach the end. I don't know what that end is. I don't know where we'll be in a month from now or even tomorrow, _but damn it_, we're going to be alright. I _know_ we are. So tell me that it's going to be alright. Tell me we'll live. Tell me you believe that; _please_."

A deep swallow conquered the broken man's abdomen, and more tears came to that soaking pillow.

"It's going to be alright, Feliciano. And I believe that. We'll be alright…We will."

"I know we will."

Lips met, those mounds trying not to churn in their menacing upset.

"Come on. Let's get ready for work, so they don't find us like this."

"Alright. I love you, Feliciano."

"I love you too."

So they prepared themselves, that silence fatal as strong poison. Thought choked them as a rope to a hanging man and either devoured the unavoidable ache so infesting those bleeding hearts. They regarded themselves within the mirror and they imagined what an end would indeed entail.

But then they left, because appearing late would only leave the presentation that something was indeed direly wrong.

Spots were occupied. Minds went to their menial tasks and tension engulfed air as blood takes possession of one's body.

Mouths were dry, but there was certainly suspicion; those men had been speaking. They had been polluting that stale atmosphere with that dire knowledge and painting the skin of those two men an ugly black. Information came into ears as birds to nests so overpopulated with starving children, and each set of eyes looked upon those two with some kind of knowing.

Their innermost secrets had been written against their brows in screaming crimson paint.

But there was no washing that ink from sordid flesh. That seal was permanent as a tattoo.

They were wearing scarlet letters.

And they were judged as though it was God's eyes that tore into those bleeding shreds.

The German shook as he held his pen, trying to be brave, for he was the white rabbit within a den of hungry wolves; yet, he painted himself within the flesh of one of those great beasts, as though those harmless teeth were truly barbed daggers as they were supposed to be.

Ludwig was writing to be hanged, and he had no idea when that cord was to hold him.

Feliciano was in the very same sort of state, but he did not shake; he simply bit upon those torn lips, skinning then and allowing that pink tinted flesh to fall upon those numerous papers. Fingers tore until claiming blood, and then a little more after those mounds turned raw. And then a tongue collected those bitter droplets, sharp pain residing along those leaking incisions.

It went in all day. Hours passed as busy years and not one was willing to raise their voices within that busy clamor.

They wished to go home, especially Ludwig, who desired to stand and announce his sickness and drift from those heavy doors.

And had he been freed, he would go to his depressing and bare flare, only to lie in his sulking worry for entire hours.

He would pack, then. After he had rested he would pack. And after he had packed, he would run.

Run with that muse comfortable at his side; run while his legs were not battered and bruised; and run while life still drowned his limbs in all its beautiful essence, with all its glittering chances and opportunity and malcontent fate. While there was still hope within his blood; while he was still _capable_ of hoping.

Yes. Ludwig would run.

He did not know where those worn feet would bring him. He did not know how he would get far enough away. He did not know what would become of his venerated lover, who he wished to protect with every fiber of muscle he possessed.

But he would go, running fast and hard. Until it hurt to breath. Until it hurt to hold existence. Until he truly needed to cease.

They should have gone years ago…

Finally, Ludwig and Feliciano went home, either preparing to leave within their minds. They thought of what they would bring and what would be left to the merciless hand of time and rot. They thought of how, they thought of when, they simply thought, incoherent sentiment choking what little logic had been spared.

There was no sleep that night. Even though either were well exhausted.

There could be none.

There was no time.


	25. Chapter 25

The door was knocked down; the apartment left to something as mangled ruins. They went through the kitchen drawers, the knives, the trash, the bedroom, the closet, the clothes, the sheets; they dismembered everything hands could find refuge upon. They destroyed that once strong constitution and left its innards to stand all about that ruined section of saddened floor.

The curtains were even torn asunder, _a curtain_. An innocent bolt of hapless fabric, was left to utter worthlessness against the ground.

Naturally, there was nothing found within those once fluttering cottons, or the drawers, or the cabinets, or even the sheets, which Ludwig cleaned obsessively as one _could _clean such an article. They found normality; necessities, paper, pens, utensils, food, coins, napkins, toilet paper, running water, a working shower, pillows, clothing, all the things one would expect within any home; any apartment, any living space at all.

But they did find the one peculiar thing that pair had believed to be hidden.

They located the painting, sitting behind a legion of polished shoes and pressed uniforms, that work of beauty that was so melded in happy oils and the passion of moments stretched into wondrous hours.

They found the painting.

And they laughed; they laughed because they knew they were right, they had _proof_, even more so than before.

That compilation of unfettered sentiment was far more tangible than the simple glances the pair cast to one another; solid. Far more than the simple fact those two men lived amongst one another; the incarnation of the pure emotion running through either of their veins and reflecting inside those wells.

This was _proof_. And not only was it proof, but it was _good_ proof. This was no longer simple suspicion, but existing evidence.

Of course, there were still those who said, "But what it it's only art? You know how those Italians are. They have no shame."

But there was simply too much piled against those men. There was too much stacked against those shoulders, which had grown so very brittle and frail. It had been too long; they had acted too suspiciously; they had brought on that search, because there indeed _was_ reason to believe they were homosexuals. There was reason enough to strew those possessions about carelessly and take every last item as plausible information.

And then there was the painting.

The last anchor stacked against the spider's exhausted net.

They had found what was sought.

And having that article, they hid it within their black bag and ran; ran before that pair returned and they would be forced to stare into those once respected eyes.

Because Ludwig was once exalted. He was once the shining example upon that emerald hill. He was the embodiment of that wondrous country; strong, Aryan; perfection wrapped within pale flesh.

The ones who were his familiars did not wish to search through his things. There was not a desire to alleviate that bitter need to truth, nor was there a great wanting to incriminate that once angelic being.

But it was a witch hunt. And had they not cooperated, they would have been accused themselves.

Bearing such a brand would only earn the same flavor of malevolence.

The former companions simply did not possess the power to choose. Their limbs were bound, and their mouths were made dry as hallowed bone.

And they had survived too much to lose such wondrous fortune; that was how they justified it, harming their companion, their friend, their brother.

Most of them did not even care if Ludwig and Feliciano loved one another. They would have been overjoyed to have that set keep their secrets beneath those many floorboards, never to be discovered until a single plank found its freedom.

Yet, they had those guns pointed at their very own brows, and nails were removed quickly, as though a hammer had never afflicted them.

And the apartment was destroyed in a confused sort of spite. Because that man was looked up to; because it was not what the others had wanted of their Ludwig, who was so much like them; because it was unfair. Who was that Aryan-skinned soul damaging beside himself? They were not aching of his affections; a few were even joyous for his own bliss. But of course, that admission was never placed within the knowledge of another mind.

Then they left, upset, lost, and sorry. Sorry they had found exactly what they were looking for, sorry they had not been brave enough to raise usual protest, sorry they had ended their companion's life. Sorry they would not b able to say good-bye.

And Ludwig and Feliciano returned. They returned to their broken home and they found that painting to be missing, knowing that their space had been well searched.

And they cried; sobbed, knowing it was now only a matter of simplistic time. A matter of will. A matter of action.

They packed the few things that were not broken, what was barely necessary.

Without words, they took awareness that they would leave the very moment work was over the preceding day.

Because that was the action that was most correct.

There was another sleepless night.


	26. Chapter 26

They awoke feeling as dead men.

They did not know how much time had been written against their brows. There were no mirrors. There was no water. Only peeling skin and irritating paint.

They dressed. They wore their faux hides, panthers conveyed as tigers. They brushed their teeth; they fixed their hair. They looked like the others, they looked like themselves. They had not been. And those others were well aware.

Ludwig and Feliciano might as well have come to work clothed within their pajamas. Did truly matter was worn anymore?

"…Ludwig."

The blond man did not reply.

"Listen, why don't we just leave? Why are we going to work?"

For a moment, there was not an answer.

"Ludwig…"

"I don't know, Feliciano. It feels like something I have to do. You can go. You should go…"

"No. I'm not letting you go in there alone. I might as well throw you form a cliff. I couldn't live with myself if I did that."

"We'll leave after work. It's too early now. Not during daylight."

"Alright. I'll follow you wherever you need me to, Ludwig. I trust you. Because I know things will be alright. I love you."

"I love you too."

So they went to their last day of work. Neither knew what awaited them at the end of that twisting and turning tunnel. They did not when the train would come; they did know the direction that they should run. But that was their final day of servitude, all for a country that could not possibly accept them.

Ludwig and Feliciano knew they loved one another; that they had gone into that great pit of hellfire with hands intertwined in the purest of adoration.

They loved one another, and before death was so near, they had known affection. They had known what it was to fall for someone, what it was to devote so much to a different soul.

After so many years of horrid darkness, the blond man had been drenched in angelic light fallen so haphazardly into his wide open arms, all the way from Italy.

Some part of him accepted that sour fate. Because he had not been living before. Because he would rather give the rest of his days to that terrible giant than go on another hour absent of that perpetual ray.

There was no inspiration without the muse.

Only dour and ephemeral moments, labeled in dripping numerals.

And they worked.

That was all there was left to do without running. Their translations were mangled, words written in a shaking print and produced by thoughts marred in sickening emotion.

Hours expired. Clock hands moved and ticked because each second bore a number, a rehearsed sequence so many saw against that stage drenched beneath that writhing sun. And it was the only time they were not simply allowed to pass. Those travelers were checked for their passport, for those identifications, for their faces, for their digits. They were watched as prisoners, each trying to escape without their bitter guards noticing.

Ludwig stared at each and every one of them.

Paranoia drew lacerations as a sharpened knife.

And finally, those minutes ran short and the room had emptied.

All for the Japanese man, who regarded the German and the Italian as though a great secret poisoned his throat, choking him; moving him.

Without phrase, he moved to the door, blocking it with a constitution well smaller than either contained within that cell.

"Kiku…" The tanned soul elevated his noise.

"I don't want to hurt you or cause any trouble…" That quiet swallowed crippling worry. "I'm not supposed to speak. But I've been silent too long."

"What are you going to tell us?"

The man paused, as though great worth was about to shatter about a cruel marble floor. "They're at your home…Waiting. When you arrive, they're going to arrest you."

Bitter muteness.

"I heard the plans. It's like they wanted everyone to know…They don't want to take you in. The man leading the others respected you, Ludwig. Hans-I think his name was." Pause. "They could have taken you the moment you returned to work, the moment they finished searching your apartment. But they didn't…Please. You have to go. Because I can't take lying any longer; keeping quiet."

Ludwig and Feliciano regarded one another.

"…Your name is Kiku, isn't it? I want to know the name of the man who saved my life."

"Yes. That's right."

"Thank you, Kiku…Thank you." The blond man glanced to those battered feet. "We won't be able to repay you. But I can't thank you enough. I hope to God that you get every last thing you wish for. _Thank you._"

"Thank you, Kiku…"

"I didn't have a choice." There was a slight simper. "I truly hope that everything goes well for either of you. But you should go. They might return…"

"Thank you."

And in a moment utter serenity, that honest man was held within a gentle and passionate embrace. There was a brief tenseness, but arms were given in return and Feliciano gave his limbs in the same manner, those fleeting seconds laced in such glorious liberation.

"Thank you…"

"Please; don't thank me. Just go. Because if they come to get you, it will all be for nothing."

"Of course…Have a good life."

So that pair descended into the darkness, guided only by the dimmed streetlights and their worried eyes; their feet did not once cease; their pace did not slow. Either was bordering growing a pair of silver wings and rising above those purple clouds within the sky, the very same bodies that once seemed to house so much anguish.

They did not look back; they did not stop. There was too much determination to push forward and far too much fear to cease the movement of those grinding muscles. It was almost as though their limbs would fall to grains of regretful salt, and those feathers would remain forever soaked inside their crimson essence.

They were afraid. They wished to label themselves as brave and call to that grand world, shout into each of those wretched faces that they were men of great stature. That they had renounced their churning concerns and their obligations and their homes.

But they could not do so much as raise bare whisper. Because they were far beyond fortunate to have breath within their finicky lungs and heads against their creaking necks.

The lovers ran. They had no possessions. No wealth. Nothing. But through some odd anomaly, despite their unfettered fright and all their loss, they were happy. Because they still possessed one another, and had it not been that certain issue, it would have certainly been another and another after that. Germany was breaking and it seemed as though nothing would provide cure.

And they descended; descended as they believed they should have long ago. The future was clouded just as that expansive horizon, and nothing was made clear, but fate had given them its blessing, Kiku was there, companions were made from men supposed to be murderers, who desperately did not wish to have Ludwig's blood upon their palms, or his lover, who engendered joy as a fresh gift clothed in golden wrapping.

Each of them had worked together in a kind of subconscious plan, and through the actions and raw kindness of strange destiny, the glass containing the pair of moths shattered and those kept captive bolted for that gaping sky light.

They abandoned their brothers; they sacrificed their companions. But they lived. And they still possessed love, treasure keeping hold upon treasure, the King and his Gem. The Gem and his King.

For they would be nothing had one been lost.

And the doves flew from their barbed cage.


	27. Epilogue

Ludwig and Feliciano stopped when they no longer knew a single face, when signs were far from familiar and when not one knew who they were. They stopped when they had evaded the hands of Germany. They were unrecognized. They were no one. They did not keep families, or pets, or homes, or anything more than flesh or the clothes made to inhabit their worn backs. (Which were traded for another set.)

Feliciano worried of Dom, and Ludwig, his brother. He was well aware what they would tell him, the shame he would experience, the very burn that had been branded against his back.

That was the German man's sole regret. Gilbert held such a wondrous value, and he deserved a good-bye and truth from the mouth of the accused. But there was no allotment for such pleasantries. Neither of them could afford that steady debt.

So they claimed new lives, taking jobs within local shops and saving every last fragment of currency they could achieve.

There was a plan to go to America, to take inhabitance within a country that could house their lives; where they would not be told their blood was something of unfixable filth, where they could breathe and adore in peace.

They fought the pain. They veiled their affections and murdered the cries of those all consuming hearts. And they made their money. They would purchase a better life, a hand to be held onto that would lift them from that great purgatory.

After months, they earned their goal. There were the passports, the tickets for that roaring boat, and the suitcases packed in their anticipant perfection, so filled of bare necessity and unbound hope.

They came to New York, that wondrous city so overpopulated by diversity. They were taken by awe, unable to speak in any language, much less English.

But as they had, they moved on. They found a place to stay. They found occupations. They found freedom. They found relief from fear, and ultimately, they found their happiness. Despite the loss, despite their sacrifices, despite all that was abandoned in Germany and Italy, and that well kept apartment either had once slept inside.

It was difficult.

It was difficult and strenuous and lonely at times. Especially for that loyal and tanned soul, who strived to learn English and communicate with all those around him.

Often times, Ludwig would apologize, knowing that Feliciano had given so much for him, knowing that it was beyond excruciating at times, knowing that it was not utterly his fault. Yet, he still apologized.

And every time, Feliciano would tell his darling Ludwig that it was alright; that coming to America was his idea and that one could not control such hapless things as fate.

Still, there was fresh guilt stacked high against that tongue, as a sky scraper form the bottom of a deepened river.

But they loved one another. And all that had been given was not bitter waste. They held one another shamelessly; they kissed in fervent passion born from their undying adoration made only stronger from that great monster of adversity, and they did not crumble beneath difficulty, even though folding and allowing knees to buckles would be far easier.

In their newly found freedom, paints were purchased, as well as a canvas, and Ludwig was recreated in those joyous colors. He sat nude against those beaten cushions (they were far too poor to purchase a new couch) and allowed that glorious light to flood their windows, the same light that would not have adhered to the very matching situation all those months before.

It was posted as soon as it had dried, caught beneath a shimmering frame and left to its loud brilliance upon the wall.

No longer was there shame, or worry, or misery birthed from a womb of shaking paranoia.

They were happy, joyous, blissful. Free.

_Yes._ _They were free. _

And nothing could have offered such unrestrained breath.

They had stood against fear and danger and even fate. They had been frightened for their lives, something so hardly earned and easily stolen. And they walked away with both absence and fortune. They had suffered and they had gained and they had waged war.

War for the right to post art upon their walls, war for the right to love unconditionally, and war to have those unalienable rights, to live without fear and to paint those beautiful canvases with each of those wondrous hues; to pursue happiness.

And they lived their lives, thankful to have beating hearts and moving limbs.

Because despite those horrid trials and mangled heartaches, they had one another. Love had proven to be a protective force, and either did not allow such a magnificent bloom to be trampled upon.

Not even by the Führer himself.


End file.
